


Mischief and Wisdom

by MinMinn



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Bondage, Dark!Solas, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Jealous!Cullen, Jealousy, Love Triangle, Masturbation, Mischief, Public Humiliation, Restraints, Romance, SO MANY FEELINGS HAVE BEEN RESOLVED NOW, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Suggested threesome, Teasing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, but resolved feelings, dub-con, elvhen bathhouse sexy times, jealous!Solas, maybe not incest, questionable incest, slight BDSM, wisdom x mischief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2016-06-11
Packaged: 2018-04-30 00:22:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 22,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MinMinn/pseuds/MinMinn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><br/>Where Wisdom knew Fen’Harel could usually control his emotions, now he was letting them run rampant. It was almost as if…</p><p>“Something’s blocking him too,” she whispered, reaching down to try and touch his face gently. The trembling of his hands gave her pause, and then she yelped as he slammed his hands down on the table top. Cautiously, she tried peering into his mind…<br/> <br/><i>…hands gripping hair, cloth, skin. The sound of her, the smell, the heat. Lips on my throat, and why could I not clutch at her hips, force her against the wall and watch the fear and fire in her eyes. Would she cry out my name when I—</i><br/> <br/>“But that’s not the best part,” Mischief interrupted with glee, much to Wisdom’s relief. The look in Fen’Harel’s eyes…  </p><p> </p><p> In which Wisdom and Mischief conspire to let off a little steam amongst the Inquisition's best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Wisdom was not often concerned with the stumbling efforts of the living. Their petty concerns paled in comparison to the great swirling truth that so often eluded them. It was the past Wisdom studied – cared for even. Like she would care for an ancient tree, or an aging pet.

Yet she had watched over enough of history to recognise the swelling importance of the events unfolding before her. The Inquisition had become a true pillar in almost all matters – faith, fear, peace, war…

As events unfolded, it and its followers had drawn her closer and closer to the veil, until one day she had caught herself pressing every so lightly against it. It was almost like a subconscious thing – if one of her nature could call it that. In one moment she had been following the emotions of someone plagued by a difficult decision, the next she had found herself staring at the present – like turning a corner and suddenly finding the world painted in brighter colours. The veil wrapped around Wisdom as a soft muslin, instead of the usual relentless polarity that forced her away like magnets creating a force field. She allowed herself this indulgence, and pushed slightly - just enough to almost brisk her fingers along the coat of the Inquisitor as she rushed past, aiming for the rotunda where Wisdom’s old friend had made his den.

She could always feel _him_. Yet he drew her in a different way. She would pass him by to make sure he was still alive, but never gaze long enough to wonder…

It startled her, then, to feel a whole new pull drawing her to him – to him? _Near_ him. Beside him, and ever so slightly _against_ him.

“I had no choice, Solas!” The Inquisitor spat, and Wisdom felt the pull clench again, like a small thread was tugging at her core. _No, she had had a choice, but she had no choice but to make the right one…_

“Forgive me. The entire idea is… unnerving,” he sighed, the tremor of rage ebbing away from him. She could tell he was aware of it, and controlling it. Controlling, controlling, always controlling.

Turning back to The Inquisitor, Wisdom watched her face. As she did, she felt something stir within her she had not experienced in a long time. Perhaps its loss had once been the reason she turned her back on this bright, vibrant world – why she preferred the company of the dead and forgotten…

But now it had returned, with full force, thrumming through her like a deep old song.

Then it crumpled before her as Fen’Harel turned his back on the girl.

The rush of emotions was severe. The face of the Inquisitor visibly wilted. Her mind, once strong and stalwart against foolishness, instantly turned to chaos and disorder. What was this crushing feeling? Why was she so quick to turn from Wisdom? How _could_ she?

Anger tried to take hold of the spirit, but she would not let it. That would, after all, be unwise. Far too similar to the fickle living to allow emotion to control her behaviour.

But _why_. She still could not understand it. She tried to study Fen’Harel as he walked away, back slightly slouched as he showed the weight of his burden. He gently placed his hand against the desk, then leant down to study – with a little _too_ much interest, in Wisdom’s opinion – the elven keystone lying in front of him.

Close to fury with frustration she turned back to the Inquisitor, still trying to desperately to understand. The Inquisitor was still engulfed in turmoil! _Why doesn’t he care… why doesn’t he care…_

“What they need is a little mischief,” a small voice said from beside her.

In the intensity of the moment, Wisdom had not noticed the other spirit come to join her. She shouldn’t be surprised – the room was broiling with emotions – but it startled her none the less.

After a beat she recognised the aura, and turned back to her scene. “Mischief,” she said calmly.

The other spirit made a show of a bow, before letting out a small laugh. “Surprised to see me, Wisdom?” he snickered.

“I thought you would be attempting to possess that _other_ one by now,” Wisdom replied evenly, not taking her eyes off the now retreating Inquisitor who all but ran from the room. She allowed herself to follow, but stepped back ever so slightly from the veil. She didn’t want to come across as too eager, after all.

Mischief laughed again – that same little teasing laugh that had you wondering if it were laced with evil or simply looking to play. Dancing along the edge of right and wrong. Wisdom made a show of rolling her eyes.

The distant images of the living world continued to play out before the two old friends, and they watched as The Inquisitor stole away into the privacy of her own quarters.

With the quickness of an arrow, Mischief darted across to press right up against the Inquisitor as she shut the door. He let himself trace his hand along the back of her neck, whispering something intangible as the veil reacted to his attempts to cross it. The permeating emotions granted him a slim window of opportunity, and he pressed his finger into the nape of the girl’s neck. Wisdom sighed as she watched The Inquisitor stop in her tracks.

“A little mischief always helps in a lovers quarrel,” he stated simply, drawing back again to materialise behind the other spirit. Wisdom watched on, affecting a bored aura about her to show she was disinterested in his games. But something piqued her interest, and she couldn’t help but ask:

“Lovers?”

“Oh yes.”

“But why would he—?”

“Need you ask, old friend?”

Mischief gestured to the Inquisitor again, and Wisdom found herself looking at a completely different person. Mischief’s little interference had left her… what?

She could hardly describe what she saw. Instead of a dejected cloud about her features, she now saw a heavy lidded enchantment – a dazed, yet fiery glow deep in her eyes. A small moan escaped the Inquisitor’s lips as she threw herself into the bed. Wisdom could not doubt that in that moment, the girl had been … alluring.

“I dare you,” Mischief whispered, now right behind Wisdom and close enough to press on her back. She knew what he was talking about – he was suggesting they peer into her mind. Find some more clarification.

“Well… I’ll have to admit the girl is…” for once Wisdom was lost for words.

“She’s plagued by almost all the emotions one could feel – anger, bitterness, hurt, fear. But she also understands wisdom—” at this he moved to stand before the spirit and smile, in his way, “— and love.”

Moving to gaze at the girl again, she could see it was clear. The girl was beset with love – absolutely infected with it. Curiosity showed itself strongly, and without a second thought, Wisdom allowed herself to peer into the machinations of the Inquisitor’s mind.

It all became painfully clear. The crumpling of the girl’s resolve, the fear and doubt that clouded her judgement…

And, of course, the frustration.

“She’s…” Wisdom furrowed her brow, “Why is she…?”

Mischief laughed softly, “Surely you’ve seen enough of _this_ to understand it,” he gestured to the girl who now lay on her stomach, grumbling to herself and fidgeting about.

Wisdom tried peering again into her mind. Yes, there was wisdom there, but something was stopping it. Clogging it up and blocking it…

“Oh!” Wisdom, suddenly remarked, flying away from the image that was thrown at her as quickly as she could. Mischief stayed his ground, cackling to himself like a child.

What she had seen wasn’t something unknown to her. She had seen countless demonstrations of love – it was one of the strongest emotional manifestations. The veil was always thin where lovers had met – full of everything a spirit could ever hope to feel.

Yet seeing this beacon of wisdom – and her equally indomitable friend – in the throes of passion… it was more than Wisdom could comprehend. Everything she knew about the two made it seem impossible, and yet…

“Here’s what I propose,” Mischief suddenly interrupted, with laughter still in his voice. “You understand what she wants, of course?”

“Of course,” Wisdom replied curtly.

Mischief grinned, “I propose we give it to her. In a way that, oh I don’t know, _forces_ her to let it out.”

“ _Give_ it to her? You mean trick her?” Wisdom, stepped away, not liking where this was going.

“Oh no, no, no,” Mischief waved his hand, darting about to take Wisdom’s arm in his own. “Nothing like that. Something a bit more subtle. How about… a dream?” His brow – or the _feel_ of them – quirked at her. Her own heart leapt.

“A dream…” it had been so long since she’d entered a _living_ dream. “And you think… if we throw a little mischief in the works, the difficulty she’s facing with be dealt with?”

“Of course,” he grinned, “All she needs is a little… release. And she’s not the only one.” With a gesture, Mischief brought them back to the veil, but pressed them up against it to spy Fen’Harel instead, still at his desk. Yet he was tormented by a whole different storm of emotions. They raged about him like a thick cloud of insects – biting, gnawing, whittling away. This was normal, but something coloured it in a different way. Where Wisdom knew Fen’Harel could usually control his emotions, now he was letting them run rampant. It was almost as if…

“Something’s blocking him too,” she whispered, reaching down to try and touch his face gently. The trembling of his hands gave her pause, and then she yelped as he slammed his hands down on the table top. Cautiously, she tried peering into his mind…

 _…hands gripping hair, cloth, skin. The sound of her, the smell, the_ heat _. Lips on my throat, and why could I not clutch at her hips, force her against the wall and watch the fear and fire in her eyes. Would she cry out my name when I—_

 “But that’s not the _best_ part,” Mischief interrupted with glee, much to Wisdom’s relief. The look in Fen’Harel’s eyes…

They were suddenly thrown to a different part of the fortress where she was greeted by the tall, armoured man who held Courage so close it was like possession. In comparison with the brooding Wolf he was like a prowling lion. He stalked the battlements, mind equally as tumultuous.  On _his_ mind Wisdom could see many, many good things. She could see herself mirrored in so many of his decisions, but…

“Blocked,” she stated, angry now that so many of these important figures of history were destroyed by such a small thing. “Is it… what, lust?”

“No… more than that,” he said, “They are fearful – _can I truly feel this way without inviting trouble?_ Hopeful – _do they feel the same?_ Playful – _what would happen if…_

“Enough,” Wisdom sighed, watching the Commander pace his quarters like a lion in a cage. She couldn’t deny Mischief’s reasoning. They were penned up, and they needed release.

“Come on, old friend,” Mischief crooned, now behind her and rubbing her shoulders. Oh yes, he knew just how to trap her.

“We’ve done this before, you and I,” she said with a little laugh, “Sometimes it works…”

“Oh trust me, my dear, it’ll _work_ ,” he gestured to the Commander who now threw Courage aside, and slunk away to his bed. “As you’ve said before, there’s wisdom in a little _mischief_.”

His eyes flared like two bright green flames, and Wisdom saw everything clearly laid out before her. Deviously, she smiled back at him. “I get to plan, of course.”

“Of course,” he laughed, and with that they disappeared into the depths of the Fade to start their scheming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh boy this is going to be fun, any feedback or critiques would be super super welcome, I'm pretty noobish at this fic writing thing :3


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy oh boy oh boy, when will the Chantry kick in my door and stop my sinful hand!
> 
> Thank you for your kind comments! But to be honest I have no idea where this crazy ride is headed, bare with me as I figure it out!

Wisdom knew it was best to begin with the commander. Although the Inquisitor and the Dread Wolf both had bigger responsibilities reliant on their full recovery, it was the commander that suffered the most. At first, Mischief disagreed;

“My friend, surely you must see why it is Fen’Harel that requires our assistance more,” he fell onto the chaise lounge he had conjured, now manifested fully in the human form he liked to wear. His hair was raven black, with a slight curl at the ends that hung near his shoulders. He had decided to mimic the commander’s garb – a decision Wisdom had rolled her eyes at, of course – with the feathery texture of his coat making him seem regal and important. As he reclined lazily, he twisted his wrist, and a full ripe vine of grapes appeared in his slender fingers. He watched the show that played out before them with a small expression of disgust on his angular features as he popped the imaginary fruits into his mouth, chewing slowly.

“Just look at him!” Mischief cried around a full mouth, flinging a stalk at the veil in his outrage.

The other spirit only sighed, reaching her hand to touch at the veil gently instead. After a moment, she moved back to her area of the Fade.

Comparatively, Wisdom had settled with a small table and chair, affecting the elven image she preferred with her short bob of hair tickling just below her ears. The two had settled into this area of the fade comfortably, willing into existence the items and images they liked most, designing their interference like warlord strategists.

The pair of spirits had taken a few days to plan, and were now observing “Solas” as he travelled with the Inquisitor. She had opted to journey back to The Hinterlands in some futile attempt to win back her lover’s affection after their disagreement. It was clear from the argument the spirits had witnessed that Solas greatly disapproved of Da’mi Lavellan’s treatment of the Grey Wardens. It had been the turmoil and quiet victory of this decision that drew Wisdom to her in the first place, and she was vexed at her old friend’s prejudice against it.

“I cannot understand him,” she replied, turning away from the veil. She ignored Mischief’s attempts to draw her attention to Solas and his frustration, but instead watched on with a bored expression.  He was lying on his back now, glaring daggers at the fabric of his tent as they camped. His jaw was taught, the little muscles working as he ground his teeth, his eyes blazing with each sound of girlish giggling that came from just outside his tent.

Lavellan, they knew, was sitting with her close friend the Tevinter beside the campfire. The Seeker and Solas had retired to bed soon after they had made camp, eager to rest after such a long day searching. None of the group could fathom Lavellan’s sudden interest in the ancient elvhen artefacts that she scoured the Hinterlands for – but they had all accompanied her regardless. Despite the arduous events of the day, Lavellan and Dorian had opted to share a small vial of the strongest liquor she could find – Golden Scythe, of course. As they passed the vial between each other, they told heinous stories of their past lovers, cheeks flushing red and eyes glimmering in the campfire light.

“They’re like children sneaking wine from their father’s cellar,” Wisdom said with disdain, moving to sit on her little wooden chair and play with the quill there. She had yet to write anything down - and probably wouldn’t - but enjoyed the feel of being on the _cusp_ of writing. It helped her to think.

Another peal of laughter echoed across the hills that surrounded their camp, and Solas shifted in his tent. Even though his movements were controlled and careful, Wisdom could tell all too well that he was aggravated. With a small chuckle, she waved her hand and the image vanished.

“If anything, I think this is therapeutic for him,” she said, smiling knowingly as she thought of the confrontation that was sure to come.

After a moment, she brought up the image of their dear commander, and sighed resignedly as she saw him. It seemed that whenever they visited, he was pacing. Pacing, pacing, pacing; searching for prey.

Mischief hummed a laugh. “ _Find him a war or something_ ,” he growled in the thick voice of the Storyteller.

“You see, old friend?” she said with a quirk of her elegant brow, “At least Fen’Harel has something to _fixate_ on.”

“I suppose,” Mischief replied levelly, popping another grape into his mouth. “But what’s our plan of attack?”

Wisdom consulted her blank page again, twirling the elaborate quill about in her slender fingers. She liked to try and mimic the exercise The Ambassador did when she herself was thinking. On the cusp, on the cusp, it was such a splendid way to _think_.

“Attack…” she whispered to herself, eyes glancing over to the war veteran who now stood by his desk, gazing out of the window. It was a rare moment of stillness, and the two spirits felt themselves swell closer to the veil as his emotions swelled with them. He was… peaceful?

Closing her own eyes, she reached into the recesses of his mind, and found a small collection of images that he seemed to be playing on repeat. Did he enjoy it? Reliving those events? Did he find some solace in the turmoil they created, satisfied that yes, ah, yes, now the world is not as calm as it appears.

“You think he likes it?” Mischief said, now pressed right up beside her, eyes fierce.

“Yes… in his way. He wants _peace._ But…”

“The eye of the storm,” Mischief whispered, “He _really_ wants—

“Chaos. Only then is he ever truly at peace.”

Suddenly an image flooded their view. A younger Cullen, hunched over and trapped, terrors and nightmares ripping at his resolve. In the deepest darkest horrors of his torture, the man had suddenly found himself a boy again, alone and afraid, and the world became quiet…

“I can see your reasoning,” Mischief said after watching the image fade. The commander turned away, startling himself out of his reverie, and resumed his pacing.

“Yes. The commander first,” Wisdom stated with a sly smile. It didn’t surprise her in the slightest that after this dark memory, the man had turned to walk to the battlements, the Inquisitor on his mind, searching for evidence of her return in the snow.

 

*          *          *

 

Cullen felt his breath hitch as he saw movement out of the corner of his eye – black on white, something coming closer?

But it was only one of Leliana’s ravens, flapping lazily as it caught a gust of wind. He watched it fly overhead as the chill blew up over him, and he shrugged his coat over his shoulders against the wind, clutching it tightly as he moved back into his study. _Silly, really…_

It was strange, but with that gust of wind he suddenly felt his eyelids grow heavy. It wasn’t something he was unused to, but at this hour? He glanced up to the loft above him, thinking of the comfort of his bed and then…

“No, no,” he said to himself softly. He had to resist the pull of sleep. Da’mi was due back any moment and he had to be awake for her arrival.

That girl. Cullen still couldn’t quite accept his own feelings for the Inquisitor, but every so often he would resign himself to his fate. As he felt his chest swell with emotion at the thought of her face as he opened the gates for her, he knew he was smitten.

“You old fool,” he sighed, glancing back up to the loft once again. _Surely a quick rest couldn’t hurt…_

What was that voice? It sounded like something so familiar, yet so foreign at the same time. No matter. There was a mountain of paperwork to finish. The fear of Josephine and Leliana as a united front nagging him, and the small look of disappointment on Da’mi’s face as he presented her with no results yet again held him back.

 _You know she would want you to rest_.

Cullen almost jumped at the sound of the voice again. Rubbing his hand lazily over his eyes, he felt the sleep force itself upon him. It was almost aggressive in nature, making him lean on his desk as he tried to steady his vision.

Was it his own mind? Or something else? That voice…

_Rest, dear boy, let your mind sleep._

Unable to bear it any longer, he stumbled his way across to the ladder, knocking glass and paper to the floor in his efforts to remain upright. He couldn’t even recall climbing the ladder, and suddenly found himself falling into the knot of furs and blankets that covered his bed.

It took only moments for his mind to sink under, and only moments more before he started to dream.

 

*          *          *

 

_He was not alone, that much he was certain of._

_The room smelt familiar – wood and wool and stone. A soft touch of lavender. Was that bread baking? Yes. He knew where he was._

_His sister’s room was small, but so delicately strewn with care that it was as grand as any palace. Lavender hung in small bunches from the corners of her window. Little purple ribbons held her drapery in place, with small wildflowers entwined in their tails. The cool stone of one wall was covered in a small tapestry she herself had crafted – a lion laying down with a lamb._

_Why was he here? He sat up – he was lying in her bed? – and rubbed at his eyes. When he looked down at his hands, he saw a much younger skin. A boy then. Or a young man. It was before, before, before…_

_Suddenly a small sound make him snap his head toward the door. If she found him here, she’d have his head for sure. Mia hated her siblings intruding on her space._

_But as he watched the figure duck through the doorway, he felt his heart quicken in a different way._

_Standing before him was a young girl – slight, almost painfully so, with pointed ears. His dreamer’s mind didn’t question, but something inside him gasped. She had her hair braided in such a way, the little curls twisted into that artful style that curved about her head like a crown, leaving the rest of her mane to cascade down her shoulders. As she peered into the room, the curls bobbed and bounced, framing her face like ivy on a castle wall._

_As she stepped further into the room, Cullen took in a short breath through his teeth, almost hissing at the sight of her. She was dressed in his sister’s favourite dress – white thin muslin, light and soft against her skin, fluttering down into loose ruffles at her shins. Her feet were bare, padding across the wooden floor as she walked into the room. He still couldn’t quite comprehend the image, which seemed so_ real, _so_ her. _There were little flowers in her hair, and wrapped around her wrists, the soft pink ribbon that held at her waist straining ever so slightly as she…_

 _“Cullen,” she said – no,_ sang. _Her voice was everything he knew… and more. Light and carefree, full of promise and playfulness. Her little feet made soft thudding sounds as she raced across the floor to fall onto him, her voice pealing like wind chimes as she laughed uninhibited, wrapping her thin arms about his shoulders, pressing her face into his neck._

 _“Oh, Cullen! I’m so glad you’ve returned!” she gasped into his neck. The embrace was chaste and affectionate and … warm. Cullen felt himself drowning in her hair which pressed up against his nose. He took in a long, full breath, drinking her in, and closed his eyes at the scent. How did she get her hair to_ smell _like that?_

_Without thinking, his own hands had moved to her back, holding her close to him. He stroked at the curls that fell across her, feeling a smile ghost across his lips._

_“Yes, dear sister, it has been too long,” he said in a low voice. Sister? He could feel something deep in his subconscious trying to question, but his dreamer’s mind was set on a path it could not veer from._

_The girl moved back, full eyes glimmering in the soft light that filtered through the room. They were dark, impossibly so, and he had thought them completely black in colour, but at his vantage point now – so close, so close – he could see the flecks of deep golden brown at the centre._

_“Cullen…” she breathed, eyes heavy lidded. Her demeanour had changed ever so slightly, cheeks flushing, mouth parted before she bit down onto her lip… those little full lips…._

_He couldn’t ignore how they were positioned, eyes roaming down to see where their bodies touched. Her stomach was pressed up against his, the painfully thin cloth of her gown rubbing slightly against his skin as she shifted, trailing her arms up to rest on his shoulders. He could feel the sensation of her little fingers twining into his hair and it made him wild. Blood coursed through his veins like a cavalry of horses, rushing down to pool in his lower stomach, and flush up into his face._

_“S—Sister…” he whispered, trying to make it sound like a warning, but it came out as a weak plea. This was so wrong,_ so wrong. _Chaos bloomed in his mind as he tried to fend of the sensations burning in him. No, no, no… he didn’t want this! But his own hands were trailing down her back, feeling the little ribbon at her waist, teasing it with his calloused fingers that moved of their own volition. He had lost all control… and he loved it._

_She looked at him in a curious way then, eyes becoming even darker as she smiled slyly. “No,” she said, “You know I’m not Mia.”_

_“Mia…?” his brow furrowed, but he was only half invested in questioning her, he was oh so distracted by the way his sister’s dress swelled over the girl’s chest as she breathed, her little breasts outlined just so as she inhaled…_

_“Call me by my title,” she growled, like a wild cat stalking her prey, gripping her hands into his hair, pulling at him sharply._

_He gasped, feeling the rush of blood run hotter and faster, arcing ever so slightly into her, bringing his face up so he was close enough to claim her mouth if he chose to._

_“Inquisitor,” he all but mouthed the word, with no breath in his lungs to voice it. She purred then, releasing his hair and bringing her little hands down along his bare chest, fingers splayed across him as she suddenly shoved with all her might, pushing him back down into the bed. She was not strong, but he felt himself fall anyway, completely willing to play into this madness, to succumb to it._

_“Good boy.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *starts reciting the chant to atone for her sins*


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor little old man hobo elf who is oh so confused

Cullen scrambled awake in a flurry of furs and limbs, crying out in horror as his heart tried to burst out of his chest. So real, _so real_! The dream was still fresh in his mind as he tried to steady his vision, staring down at the tangle of sheets about his legs as he sat up, bewildered. Panting and sweating, he ran his hand through his hair, trying to calm his breathing.

He was so transfixed by the ferocity of his emotions and the rushing sound in his ears, that he hardly noticed the light tap of someone’s footsteps crossing the floor below.

It wasn’t until the creak of the ladder bounced off the stone walls around him that Cullen snapped his head up, reality crashing over him like a wave.

It was too similar to his dream for Cullen to try and act normal – as soon as the bobbing curls and bright shining orbs appeared over the top of the ladder, he felt his entire body flush with embarrassment. The rushing in his ears grew louder, and his heart stuttered to a halt as he held his breath.

Da’mi leapt lithely up over the ladder to stand before him, hair loosely matted into a pair of buns – no flowers, no muslin, no ribbons. But she was no less breath-taking as she stood in her armour, leather hinting at her figure as it gripped her skin in all the right places. Her face was flushed and excited, a big smile on her childish features as she made eye contact with him.

But instead of rushing to greet him, her eyes darted down to his lap and then…

“What in the… Elgar’nan!”

Her curse turned into a shrill scream, ringing through his skull, making him wince as it reverberated off every wall in Skyhold. His shock turned into horror as he too glanced downward…

Maker’s breath, no, no, _no_!

He roared with embarrassment, desperately grabbing at the furs about him to cover the tenting sheets between his legs. This could not be happening!

He reached a hand out to the Inquisitor, eyes begging her to forget, begging time to reverse. But he could see it all too plainly in her wide, wide eyes as she blushed bright red from head to toe – there would be no forgetting this moment. Without another sound, she slowly backed away from him and retreated down the ladder, leaving him completely alone with his horror.

 

*          *          *

 

The Inquisitor fled the scene, sliding down the ladder and bursting out of the commander’s door. Her breath came in ragged gasps as she forced her legs to push her faster across the battlements, aiming straight for the door to the rotunda.

She knew she was acting childish but something about the entire scenario filled her with an emotion she didn’t want to acknowledge. The blood was still rushing fiercely through her veins, colouring her cheeks and ears and throat. Try as she might, the image would not leave her – his flushed face, dark eyes, tousled hair…

She all but flung herself into the wooden door, shoving it open with her shoulder and bursting through the other into the circular room. For a moment, the colours and shapes of Solas’ murals assaulted her. She squinted at the bright blues and piercing reds, spinning away for a moment with a disgusted noise.

“Inquisitor,” she heard at a distance – was she in a tunnel? Her senses were suddenly dulled as the rushing of her blood slowed ever so slightly. She leant against the wall, steadying her breathing.

Solas was there, moving toward her. His arms were outstretched and his face lined with concern.

“Inquisitor,” he said again, ducking down to look at her face as he gripped her shoulders with his big hands. She could see confusion and concern mingling into a sweet expression on his face and she felt herself laugh.

“It’s fine, Solas,” she breathed, pushing herself away from the wall, trying as hard as she could to force _that_ image from her mind.

His eyes darted across her face, not convinced as he took in her blushing cheeks and heavy breathing.

“No,” he growled, “It is not. I heard shouting. What happened?” He knew she had just come from the commander’s office. She was so sweet with her desire to visit him to let him know of her return, but the primal jealousy in Solas had balked at her decision. He knew all too well the looks Cullen had given her – the desperation and desire seething just below the skin. They were far too familiar to his own for him to accept in another man.

Da’mi ignored his tone and laughed again – her laugh was always a thrill to him, but in this moment it only further aggravated him. She was nervous, like an adolescent girl trying to avoid her father’s judgement after doing something sinful.

“What happened,” he growled again, eyes turning dark, jaw clenching taught as he gritted his teeth. He allowed a small glimpse of his true nature to show through then, and she gasped at his ferocity.

“S—Solas, please,” she tucked a loose strand of her wild hair behind her ear, avoiding his gaze. “It’s truly nothing.”

He was so angry with her then, remembering all too well their disagreement before they had left. She was so… so… _childish_. He hated how innocent and naïve she was – how _trusting_. The Wardens did not deserve her mercy, and neither did that slobbering coward of a commander.

“I shall find out for myself, then,” he snapped, pushing her back. He hadn’t realised he was gripping at her shoulders in his rage. When her slight frame hit the wall behind her, and her gasp escaped her lips, he paused. It shocked him out of his rage ever so slightly and he looked back at her with concern.

But then she cried out in her own anger and poked her tongue out at him, crossing her arms and stamping her foot on the ground as she was want to do, and it infuriated him ever further.

“I cannot believe you!” he cried, racing out of the door she had burst through moments before, stalking across the battlements toward Cullen’s quarters. He reached the door in seconds.

“ _Solas_!” she raced after him, “Get back here you… you big old _Fenedhis_!”

Solas rolled his eyes and burst through the commander’s door. He was much faster than her, and he slammed the door shut just as she reached it, satisfied at her expression of utter outrage. He leant against the door, feeling the push of her little fists as she banged on the wood.

“Get out of there _this instant_!” she commanded, pounding harder against the door. A wolfish smirk spread across his features – she was so weak, yet so determined. This was another of her traits he couldn’t comprehend – that someone so small and vulnerable could be so willing to throw herself into danger at every opportunity, believing she had the power to fight foes twice her strength. Even in this scenario he was galled at her arrogance in thinking she could stop _him_. Compared to him, she was a blade of grass, easily withered and cut.

He locked the door and sealed it with magic, hearing her curse in that childish tone as she recognised the surge of magic. He waited a moment, and tried to suppress a chuckle as he heard her little foot stamp on the ground again. She was far too predictable.

Despite his laughter, he felt a deep darkness swirl within him as he turned to find his prey. He and the _commander_ needed to have a few words.

Affecting a composed demeanour, he stood up straight and cracked his knuckles, looking around the dark room for the culprit.

It was then that he heard the sound of items falling, the small tinkling of a belt being fasted, curses muttered under ones breath from above him. He glanced up to the loft and narrowed his eyes.

With a snarl he fade-stepped up to the commander’s makeshift room, materialising in front of Cullen like a nightmare. He was vaguely satisfied with the fear that coloured the commander’s features as he leapt back in shock… but then he looked down.

Cullen was half dressed, hands fumbling with his belt and trousers that hung about his hips, his disgustingly human chest bare, the hairs covering everything like a plague.

It didn’t take long for Solas to notice the flushed colouring on the commander’s face and throat, the tousled hair and dark eyes that betrayed a man’s lust. And it didn’t take long for Solas to turn.

He felt a low growl bubble up in his throat as he hunched over, eyes turning impossibly dark as he flicked his fingers, feeling ice curl up around his arm as the magic rolled off his skin.

But he lost all semblance of control when he noticed the tell-tale bulge in the commander’s pants.

With a roar Solas crashed into Cullen, reaching straight for his throat.

“What did you do to her,” he snarled, almost gnashing his teeth on the words as he slammed the commander’s head back against the wall they were now pressed up against. Cullen sputtered:

“N—nothing Solas! I swear! Get your hands off me!”

Yet another who dared to command him – it was bad enough that this, this _boy_ had touched his girl, but being this arrogant about it all was too much for him to bear. Solas gripped his nails into Cullen’s throat.

“You dare _lie_ when the evidence is all around you both? She looks like she’s been _attacked_!”

Suddenly a loud crashing sound from below tore his attention away. There were voices, footsteps, and then Da’mi’s face appeared above the ladder.

“What on earth are you two assholes doing?!” she cried, leaping up and racing toward them. She gripped Solas’ shirt and yanked at him, but he was as immovable as stone. He glared down at her as she prodded and pulled at him, making little noises in her exertion.

“Get _off_ him Solas!” she all but screamed.

“Inquisitor, give me one reason why I should not tear him limb from limb,” he returned his feral gaze to Cullen who was all but spitting as he retorted:

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Enough!” she cried, turning to point a little finger at the commander’s nose. He flinched slightly, and Solas chuckled at his fear.

“What in Fen’Harel’s name do you think you’re _doing_ Solas?!” she cried, turning her attention back to him. He sneered then, disgusted at her feeble attempts to protect this fool.

“Despite your avoidance of the subject, it is all too clear what has conspired between you,” he hissed, reaching down to pull at Cullen’s trousers which were still bunched up about his waist, belt unbuckled. He turned back and gestured to Da’mi with disdain, eyes almost glowing red with his rage.

“And _you_ look like a harlot straight out of the throes of passion!” he hissed.

The words were gone from his lips far too quickly for him to catch them. They were as sharp as a slap, and Da’mi recoiled, instantly letting go of Solas’ tunic and retreating. He felt everything crash around him as her face contorted in pain, her huge eyes full of hurt at the retort, and his resolve weakened. He shook his head slightly, trying to communicate the instant regret he felt.

Cullen growled, using the opportunity to shove the elf off of him, hastily fastening his belt and moving to grip Solas by his arm. The commander’s strength was raw, and Solas gulped slightly, realising with clarity that he might have met his physical match.

“How _dare_ you,” Cullen growled, throwing Solas back toward to the edge of the loft. “You jump to conclusions so easily, apostate? Have you no faith in either of us?”

Solas glanced between the two, and blinked. Could he have been wrong?

It took a while for his blood to slow, then he narrowed his eyes. “Perhaps if someone could _elaborate_ then there would be no misunderstanding,” he spat.

Da’mi groaned, throwing her hands up in the air. “You’re such an asshole.”

There was a noise from below them – laughter? He turned and peered over the loft’s edge and spotted Bull and Varric, snickering like fools. Cassandra was there too, but she looked far less amused, arms folded and eyes glaring at him. So that must have been how Da’mi had kicked in the door and dispelled his magic. Of course.

“I have to agree with her, Chuckles, you’re not the _best_ of company sometimes,” Varric said in his thick accent, laughter clear in every word he spoke. Oh how he _hated_ being laughed at.

Solas turned back to Lavellan, ignoring their gibes and glaring at her expectantly. He folded his arms and gestured to the commander.

Da’mi reddened then, biting down on her lip and averting her eyes. Solas laughed without mirth.

“And what, prey tell, am I to make of _that_ reaction?”

She huffed, turning to look at Cullen. The commander had his hand behind his neck, averting his eyes as well. The two glanced at each other, and when their eyes met, they blushed even more, turning away and pointedly avoided each other’s gaze.

“She… well she…” the commander sighed deeply, muffling his voice with a hand over his mouth, “She caught me.”

“Caught you doing _what_ ,” Solas said through gritted teeth.

Da’mi made a little noise, and Solas glanced over to her. If he weren’t so mad at her childish games he would have thought her reaction adorable. In context, however, it just made him seethe.

She was staring intently at her boots, her face the deepest shade of red he had ever seen. Her little ears that peeked out from her wild hair were bright red too. But it was the way she shuffled about and bit down on her little lip that seemed to calm him. She was truly this afraid to reveal the truth?

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose between two long fingers, “It is alright, _da’len_ , I won’t be mad,” he conceded.

She glanced up at him, about to say something, but Cullen cut her off.

“I was in … a _compromising_ situation, and she—” he cleared his throat, doing that same infuriating chantry-boy gesture where he rubbed the back of his neck, “— she walked in on it.”

Solas narrowed his eyes, and then felt them widen impossibly. Surely not…

As if to confirm, the commander covered the area between his legs, bitterly staring at the wall behind Solas.

A thundering chorus of laughter flew up from the room below. He didn’t have to look over the edge to know that Bull and Varric would be rolling around on the floor clutching at their sides. Solas looked to Da’mi for confirmation.

She was all but consumed with embarrassment, her brows furrowed in anger, her eyes burning holes in the toes of her boots as she studied them. After a moment, he felt all of his rage and fury subside at the sight of her so undone by the situation.

He sighed, feeling himself redden slightly at the commander’s admittance, but he would never apologise for how he jumped to conclusions. Insult or no, the two had avoided giving him an explanation, and that spoke volumes on their true feelings.

He gave Da’mi one long, meaningful look, eyes softening as she gazed back. She parted her lips, brow creasing in concern as she took in the pain in his eyes, and she tried shaking her head slowly, mouthing the word: “No.”

“I trust it will never happen again,” he said softly, knowing his words were meaningless now, before turning and fade-stepping back to the battlements. He didn’t want to face anyone now – their minds were too consumed with the humour in it all. But all Solas felt was the bitterness of rejection and the storm of jealousy that threatened to consume him as he stalked back to his own room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few days off in a row so I'm going to update a little more frequently. This chapter was too juicy to stop writing!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just love love love the idea of Solas losing his mind so completely that he doesn't even recognise a spirit's tampering when he sees it. Like dude. You're one of the most powerful mages in the world and you're undone by some titty? Shame on you.

Wisdom found herself alone as she went to try and comfort her old friend. He was back in his room, hunched over the desk with one hand supporting him, whilst the other worried away at his brow, covering his eyes. The scene was so moving and rich with emotion that Wisdom was all but shoved from the Fade, crushing against the veil in her attempts to reach out to him.

But he ignored her attempts – she knew he was not deaf to the push and pull of the veil as others were – and instead kept his eyes covered, slowing his breathing down to a steady pace.

Time dragged on. Wisdom settled for watching Fen’Harel’s chest rise and fall, counting the breaths as he stood there silently. She tried reaching into his mind, but the old fool had barred her way.

After what felt like eternity, Fen’Harel finally released, dragging his hand down his face and letting out a slow sigh. His face seemed much calmer, and his shoulders were relaxed now, instead of hunched and poised to attack.

But Wisdom could still see a darkness roiling in his eyes and she felt herself recoil from the sinister sight.

It didn’t take long for Mischief to join her. He had been following the commander closely after the debacle with the Inquisitor. It seemed all the pieces were set in motion.

“I didn’t think he’d react _this_ poorly,” Wisdom said, slightly offended by her old friend’s childish demeanour.

Mischief sighed, settling back down onto his lounge. “Do you really doubt his feelings for the girl _that_ much?”

“No. I can see why he loves her. She embodies everything he cannot have – innocence, a carefree nature, peace of mind. It’s just… I thought I had taught him better than this,” she shook her head as the Dread Wolf moved over to his chair, letting himself fall into it without grace. He slumped sulkily, arms draping over the sides of the chair as he glared at the half-finished mural across from him.

“You already know _why_ he cannot act on his wisdom,” Mischief said. “He needs release. Which is why I cannot fathom your decision – look at what our meddling has caused!” he flung his hand out in distress, gesturing to the old god’s dismal expression. “We should have started with the Wolf.”

Wisdom laughed then, turning back to smile at the other spirit with a little flash of mischief in her own eyes. “Oh sweet, sweet Mischief. This is all part of the plan,” she lifted her chin, turning back to watch her work unfold as Solas suddenly stood, eyes widening in shock, and stalked out of his room, heading for his private chambers.

 

*          *          *

 

Solas slammed the little wooden door open, jaw muscles pulsing as he grit his teeth over and over. He had thought himself composed, but then a rogue thought had stealthed its way into his mind, and all of his carefully constructed resolve crumbled like Arlathan itself.

The image was vivid – and if he weren’t so consumed by it he would have guessed that it was something crafted and not simply dredged up from his own mind.

He could _see_ the little beads of sweat that glistened on her skin, _hear_ the small sound of fabric rustling against fabric, could almost _taste_ …

With a roar he slammed his fist into the wall beside him, and almost as suddenly stepped away, shocked by his outburst. He lifted a hand to his brow once again, kneading at the skin there, almost as if he were trying to erase the embarrassment that coloured his cheeks. He couldn’t shake the thought – it was filling his entire being, making him shake with rage and desire. Try as he might to keep it at bay, it kept filling his vision.

What shook him the most was how it made him _feel_. There was rage and jealousy, oh yes. So pure and vicious that he almost expected to hear the familiar whispers of demons pressing up against the veil. But there was something else too – something that made his head swim and his knees grow weak.

A hot liquid sensation burned deep in his lower abdomen, spreading lower and arcing up along the base of his spine. His breath started coming in ragged gasps and his vision blurred for a moment…

_… bending back impossibly far, thighs quivering as she spreads her knees further apart, hands gliding up across her glistening stomach, ribs, breasts, pinching and kneading at her own flesh as she cries out…_

“No!” he growled, refusing to allow the thought to continue. But he couldn’t escape the echoing sound of her voice, reverberating through his skull and making him see red.

_“Cullen!”_

He sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, now holding his head in his hands as he sat down on the edge of his palliasse. He threw himself back onto the furs and blankets, covering his eyes with his arm resignedly. There was no escaping the glorious vision of her face as she gasped with passion, heady sounds falling from her lips like honey as she rocked back and forth.

There was no other choice. With a low, strained voice he recited a simple spell, feeling the tendrils of his magic gripping at the base of his skull, slipping around to his eyes where they forced them closed, forced him to slip under and…

_Over. He was falling head over heels, tumbling through the air. He only just had time to voice a quick cry of shock, before he landed safely. His feet were hovering just above the ground and he let them fall the last distance with but a thought._

_He was in a room – tiled and elaborate. An old bathhouse? It had been a long time since he had journeyed to one of these in the Fade. The steam was thick about him – cloying. It clung to his bare skin and caused sweat to drip down his neck._

_He was confused, and thought to seek out a spirit who could tell him why he was dreaming about this in such a place as_ Tarasyl'an Te'las _. But something stopped him before he could turn away._

_Through the mist and sounds of water, he heard a faint laughter pealing up and around him, echoing off the mosaic walls and floors. His feet shuffled forward, bare skin slipping on the cool tiles as he was pushed forward. It was as if his body was suddenly severed from the commands of his mind. The steam parted slightly as he found himself walking down a set of stairs – stairs that melted into water at the base._

_He frowned. The water was undisturbed. Strange. Usually he would travel here and find the baths full of people, but there was no one to be found in this memory. If that was what he could call it. Something deep at the back of his mind tried to question, but his head was cloudy. He almost felt drunk on the steam and the colours that melded about him. The tiles were so bright, glittering in the sun that filtered through the glass ceiling above him. He followed the light as it reflected off the misty water, creating dancing patterns across his naked body._

_“You wouldn’t,” a voice said from the mists._

_Solas snapped his head up at the sound – he knew exactly who_ that _was._

 _Stepping into the water slowly, he walked into the cloud of steam in front of him. Another chime of laughter echoed around him, louder this time. It was so laced with teasing that he felt himself stiffen and it made him gasp. He was begging in his mind, begging the dream to change, begging the voice to belong to someone_ else _. Anyone but…_

_It was then that the clouds parted to reveal two figures, silhouetted against the huge glass windows that showed what was now the Enavuris River. The sun was low, casting deep golds and oranges across everything it touched, including the water of the baths which now shimmered like molten fire._

_The two figures moved slightly, the water lapping around them lazily as the woman bent beneath the man, his head over hers as he claimed her mouth._

_In the depths of their kiss, the woman opened her eyes. Fire in the darkness. She broke her lips away from the man’s, and turned to notice the intruder. But instead of the shock he expected, he saw her features twist into a knowing smile._

_“Da’mi…_ vhenan _…” he whispered, stretching a hand out toward her._

_But she didn’t even flinch, eyes turning bitter and full of spite as she purposefully moved back to kiss the other man. Her eyes didn’t close, and she stared at him even more venomously than before as her mouth opened wider, letting the man’s tongue force its way inside her._

_Solas felt his heart clench painfully, the force making him feel like his chest was caving in. He dropped to his knees noisily, water splashing about him as the tightness coiled into a dark mass in his stomach._

_It wasn’t until the figures turned that he realised who the man was._

_“Cullen,” he rasped, eyes turning into slits as he saw the commander look up from the Inquisitor like a lion devouring its prey. His mouth was still open, slack and lazy, curving into a sinister grin as he, too, returned the elf’s gaze._

_“Look who showed up,” Da’mi said in a voice laden with venom, curving around to press her back into the commander’s chest, drawing his arms about her waist. Solas felt his entire body charge with electricity as he drank in the sight of her._

_The water rolled down her shoulders and chest in little rivulets, causing her skin to glimmer in the soft light. Her muscles across her little arms were toned and sculpted to perfection, bunching slightly as she moved her hands across the commander’s forearms, fingers feather light across his skin. She was the only one dressed, but only just. The light fabric was transparent, revealing her small full breasts and the perfect curve of her waist … and her lack of undergarments. Solas snapped his eyes back to her face and noted that her hair was unbound – something he couldn’t ever have imagined in his wildest dreams. Her advisors and tailors had insisted she always keep it tied, braided, imprisoned. Something in his mind tried to question again – how did he know what this looked like? How could his mind conjure_ this? _But the sight of her wild, free curls draping around her face like royal curtains, thick and heavy, cast all words from his mind. It was breath-taking – like the deepest, darkest of forests, knotted with dark trees and flecks of colour. In the light that now drowned her, the curls were a deep golden brown, with little strands of white gold coiling out in tendrils. The only thought he could have was of what it would feel like to press his hands into that dark mane, teasing at the curls and pulling…_

_As soon as he had this thought, he saw with horror the calloused fingers of the commander knot into the curls at her temple, and grip her harshly. Her little head pulled at his grip and her eyes closed momentarily. But it wasn’t from pain… it was pleasure._

_Solas couldn’t bear it – Cullen claiming her body like this. The commander’s huge frame was almost comically large compared to her own, and the press of his strong tan arms against her pale skin only served to make her seem even more vulnerable in his grip. But she purred as his hands shifted down again to roughly grab at her exposed breast, palming the delicate skin lazily._

_He felt his lips curl back from his teeth, letting a snarl rip from his throat as the anger and hurt flared into something much more sinister. He knew, somewhere in the deepest recesses of his mind, that this play was untrue – in no world would his sweet Da’mi ever be this cruel. But something made it all too real. Something about the way her little lips – lips that had once whispered sweet endearments in his ear – now parted as the commander dipped his other hand below the water…_

_Everything came crashing down around him as he tried to comprehend the image. This goddess of a woman, all but naked in the ancient bathhouses of Elvhen royalty where she belonged, wanton and needy in the arms of a filthy shemlen who had no right to even look at her, let alone anything of The People. It drove him wild, filled him with a frenzy he had not felt in millennia, and as her little voice called out in a reedy wail as the commander’s hand twitched beneath the water, something in the old god snapped._

_He felt his true nature consume him – feral, hunting, predator. His eyes darkened until they were nothing but black pits in his skull, and his teeth were exposed even further by his curled lips as he snarled again. The growl that rumbled in his chest turned into words:_

_“You think you can please her?”_

_The words didn’t seem to faze the boy, but Da’mi stiffened, eyes hooded with lust, but now, oh,_ now _, they were directed at him._

_A primal instinct to steal her engulfed him – she would know what real pleasure was, and when he had cast her aside, she would fall back into her lion’s arms and find him… lacking._

_Oh yes, he would make sure she was spoilt for anyone else. Only able to cry out his name, only able to find true release under his skilful touch._

_With a flicker of magic he brought himself next to her, and as he stood at his full height, staring down at her face, he saw a flicker of fear pass through her eyes, and he felt his muscles respond, lust flaring into his groin and making him hard for her._

_Without even bothering to deal with the boy, Solas reached down and gripped Da’mi by the hair, yanking her up to his mouth and crushing his lips against her. His tongue unceremoniously broke her lips apart and forced itself down her throat, and the little moan that escaped her gave him more than enough satisfaction._

_It didn’t take long for her to start melting into his arms, pushing herself away from the commander and falling onto Solas’ strong chest, arms draping themselves across his sinewy shoulders. As he bit his teeth down onto the tender flesh of her lower lip and she cried out, he took the opportunity to force himself deeper into her, tongue exploring the wetness of her mouth, soaking everything up._

_He wanted to consume her – soul, mind, heart. Devour her. And his actions revealed his darkest desires as he yanked her back, shoving her against the glass and instantly pressing his thigh between her legs._

_In the depths of the kiss, Solas was only vaguely aware of the other man. As he broke his lips away and brought them down her jawline, sucking and biting at the taught skin, he heard Da’mi gasp:_

_“Cullen…”_

_He growled ominously as he bit down hard on the sweet flesh at the base of her neck – where the delicious muscles of her shoulder met the sinews and ligaments of her throat. She gasped again, and he moved to look up at her with murder in his eyes._

_“Speak his name again and I will end you.”_

_She gulped, and raw fear darkened her exquisite features. The sight only made him harder, but he was driven wild by the way she twisted against his thigh, rutting her hips and gasping at the friction._

_She was afraid of him. And it made her wet._

_His heart almost burst at the realisation, and he all but shoved his thigh into her, hissing at the small restriction of fabric between them. He reached down and yanked at the dress, revelling in the sound of it tearing from her body. She gasped his name and he saw that same delicious expression on her face – fear and lust mingled into one, as if she was unsure she wanted this, but couldn’t help herself._

_He took this moment to drink in the sight of his victory, drawing back from her and chuckling darkly at the whimper that escaped her at the separation. She was flat against the glass, chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Her lips were now swollen, and he could see one mark of ownership on her bottom lip where he’d bitten her, blood making them deliciously red. Her neck was starting to blossom with bruises, and he could see her hand ghosting down to her hip. He hadn’t even noticed his fingers pressed into the flesh there, making her skin white with how hard he was gripping her. He let out a low laugh again, imagining the dark welts that would mark her in the morning._

_Only then, once he’d claimed her, did he allow himself to acknowledge his opponent. He turned slightly, eyeing the commander with a devious smirk._

_The boy was still in the water, now bent over and shaking with rage and lust. Solas could tell he enjoyed watching Da’mi being ravished, but hated that it wasn’t him. Gloating over the sudden reversal of emotions, Solas turned back to his prize._

_“Choose,” he growled, stepping back and giving her just enough room to escape. He released her hip, and waited for her to react. Her eyes were glued to the commander, now brought low on his knees before her, and he noted with pride the disgust that ghosted across her features._

_It was almost too easy._

_“You will never come for another man again after this night,” he breathed, now close enough to bite at her ear, worrying the soft skin of her lobe between his teeth as he hummed with satisfaction. She visibly melted, eyes turning into pools of lust, glimmering in the light of the now setting sun. Her hips started to move of their own accord, twitching and rolling as she tried to create some friction._

_He could hear the commander retreating – it only vaguely registered in his mind that it wasn’t the_ real _Cullen, only a figment of his imagination. But the sound of his feet sloshing dejectedly through the water and then out of the room was all too satisfying for Solas to deny._

_Ghosting his fingers delicately over Da’mi’s slender wrists, he suddenly clasped them tightly, holding both of them between the fingers of one hand. He yanked them upwards, and slammed them into the glass. Her eyes widened in horror, and she started to wriggle against the constraint. In a voice of velvet he muttered a spell into her ear, then grinned as she cried out in pain. Her wrists were now fastened by ice, trapping her against the wall, ready for the taking._

_She gasped for air like she were drowning, struggling against the biting cold of the fastenings, and arcing her back as she tried to break free with all her might. He shook his head in amusement._

_“Why should I let you free?” he crooned, caressing her cheek from ear to chin, delighting in the slight prickle of goosebumps he could feel as her senses heightened._

_“P—please,” she gasped, eyes pleading and desperate. She was so flushed and hot he could feel it radiating off her, mingling with the sensation of the humid steam, and the blazing heat of the setting sun. She looked like she was fighting something, something deep within her, but then she whimpered:_

_“Let me… touch you…”_

_He chuckled, low and wicked, before feathering a touch down her stomach. She let out a long moan that sent electric thrills through his veins, and it grew louder as his fingers teased at the top of her mound. He let his fingers play there for a moment, intently watching her face as she reacted to his touch, before pulling them back._

_She hissed and gave him a bitter look, teeth baring as she snapped “Don’t you dare stop.”_

_He laughed then, uninhibited and completely free. Taking a deep breath he fed off the sight of her, naked, lustful, frustrated, furious. It filled him with a desire he hadn’t felt in aeons, setting his entire being – body and soul – on fire. He stared straight at her with all the force of his feral nature, loving the way her fury turned to fear as quickly as it had begun. He grinned menacingly._

_“The night has only just begun.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THERE'S ANOTHER PART TO THIS CHAPTER I PROMISE *furiously typing smutty smut*


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> *Mops self up off the floor* I sincerely hope this was as enjoyable for you to read as it was for me to write *continues mopping*
> 
> Oh and I hope the plot twist destroys you *mops furiously*
> 
> Also for anyone who's interested in that sort of thing, I was listening to "Dance With Me" by Dario Marianelli from the Anna Karenina soundtrack as I wrote this, along with "Says" by Nils Frahm

_Countless fantasies filled his mind as he drank in the sight of his prisoner, writhing against the glass and panting like an animal. Her cheeks were flush, eyes glazed and hooded with unbridled lust, her delicious muscles pulling taught as she strained against the ice._

_He had to punish her, that much was certain._

_Her betrayal could not go without reprimand._

_There were so many ways he could unravel her, watch as her will fell apart piece by piece. But none of the ideas in his mind seemed to come close to what he wanted: to make her feel – acutely – the pain he himself had felt._

_Like lightning, the final piece fell into place, and the grimace that tore his lips apart at the thought made his prey gasp. She stilled, her wriggling and the canting of her hips slowing as she froze – a Halla caught facing Andruil’s arrow._

_With a low hum of approval, Solas shifted to the left of her, gazing out across the Enavuris River. It took only seconds, but in his mind we was carefully calculating his plan of attack – every detail had to be perfect. He had to unravel her completely, in every way, and that required complex strategy._

_Turning his fierce gaze back, he spoke softly; “What comes next, my dear, will not be kind.”_

_She gulped, eyes wide and glistening. Her chest was heaving slowly, each breath swelling her breasts, and letting them sink low again, mesmerising the old god as he licked his lips in anticipation._

_He allowed his magic to seep out of him, trailing across the distance between them and plying her skin with delicate caresses. She gasped, pupils growing impossibly small as the shock and pure sensation rippled across her. He played with the soft feel of the skin across her stomach, delighting in how her hips tried to buck upwards into the touch. A string of curses and pleas fell from her shining lips as she bent her head back, closing her eyes._

_“I want you to beg me,” he said evenly, refusing to show any of his hand so early in the game, masking the feral desire that broiled in his veins._

_“Please… oh,_ please _Solas,” she all but whispered, face contorting in frustration as he brushed his magic lower… lower…_

_“Beg me to break you,” he breathed, allowing himself to step closer to her. He kept his hands firmly anchored behind his back, refusing to touch her. He leaned down so that his breath tickled at the hair covering her ears, inhaling her scent, memorising every flavour._

_At the sound of his breath she let out a small moan, turning away ever so slightly from his lewd sniffing. But the way her mouth moved, teeth working away at her lips, tongue hanging out ever so slightly as she gasped, exposed her true desire. She liked it. She_ loved _it._

_“B—Break me,” she cried out, teeth gritting as he ghosted his magic across her entrance, an obscene wail escaping her lips that made his cock twitch with desire. She sounded like a professional harlot, a vixen. But this show wasn’t rehearsed or performed – this was all too real._

_He thought to draw out her pleasure longer, but found he couldn’t resist moving forward with his plan. Chuckling darkly, he withdrew – magic and body – fade-stepping to the centre of the pool in front of her. Her eyes flew open and the anger on her face was all too sweet._

_“No!” she cried, straining again at the bonds._

_Solas lifted his hand, quirking his brow at her as he spoke softly; “Wait,_ da’len. _Practice patience.”_

_From his hand a tendril of green magic curled up and out in front of him. Da’mi stood transfixed as she watched the ribbons of light dance before her, curving into the form of…_

_With a snap of his wrist, the magic solidified, and standing between them was a perfect copy of her. She was clothed – a simple, elegant dress, that hugged at her slim waist and trailed down from her hips, dipping into the water at her feet. The expression on her face was one of smug victory as she looked back on her mirrored image, a sneer tugging at her full little lips._

_Solas moved to touch the shoulders of the copy, head resting on her bare shoulders as he watched the captive Da’mi choke on a gasp of horror._

_“Wh—What…”_

_“Hush,_ da’len _, and_ watch _,” he growled, suddenly dragging his palm down the other girl’s abdomen. He spread his fingers, trying to cover every inch of her as he dipped his hand lower. The girl tipped her head back, falling onto his shoulder heavily as a low, guttural moan escaped her lips. Fisting the light cloth of her gown in his hands, he tore it from her, delighting in the way her breasts spilled out, unrestricted. They heaved as her breath hitched, and he couldn’t help but reach his other hand around her to tease and grope at the bare flesh._

_He said a silent thank you to all his old teachers that had taught him all the arts of lucid dreaming._

_Pleased with his work, he now turned the full force of his lustful gaze to the real Da’mi._

_She was the most exquisite sight. Her eyes were still wide with disbelief, mouth slightly open to make an ‘O’ of surprise. But her legs were squirming beneath her, trying desperately to create friction between them. Her hips were slowly grinding themselves back against the glass, the cheeks of her ass spreading flat against the wall. Her chest swelled with air as she gulped it down, trying to find some sort of relief from the agony that flared through every nerve in her body, from the hazy drunken stupor that now filled her mind._

_“Like what you see?” he crooned, dragging his hand up to the other girl’s throat, gripping the perfect column of her neck all too easily in his long fingers. Da’mi let out a whimper, and he could see it all too clearly in her eyes that she lusted after his touch – desperately pining for his fingers to touch her the same way. She bit her lip, pride flashing for a moment as she shook her head._

_He almost wished, for her sake, that she hadn’t denied him like that, and his eyes grew even darker as he dipped his lower hand down to the girl’s entrance, slipping one, two, fingers inside her tight, wet cunt. The girl, the Inquisitor, Da’mi, let out a high wail of pleasure, rocking her hips down onto his fingers, trying to drag him in deeper. He laughed as the real Da’mi mirrored the sound, ass grinding back against the glass harder. With a cry, she looked down at her hips, and the expression of confusion and terror that warped her features sent the greatest of thrills through Solas’ veins – she had no control over her own body._

_“My, my,” he said huskily, “How scandalous. Imagine the looks on their faces…” with another breath of magic, the lower pedestal that hung over the river suddenly lit up. The lanterns and soft glow of firelight illuminating the elvhen royalty that milled about, enjoying their celebrations as they had long ago, in days of old. It didn’t take long for a few to turn their gaze to the huge glass wall… and gasp._

_Da’mi cried out in horror, watching on paralysed as face after face contorted into a mask of disgust. Her obscene position, the way her hot, sticky skin rubbed against the glass, the swell of her ass as it bounced back and forth._

_Even then, she couldn’t stop it. The desire within her had completely taken hold. It was like she were possessed, lust slipping into her skin and tugging her like she were a puppet._

_She loved and hated the feeling. The feeling of being_ controlled _, of being_ subdued. _It thrilled her even more to be humiliated and laid bare like this, the deepest darkest pits of her desire exposed for the whole world._

_Tears prickling hot in her eyes, she turned back to look at the demon that ensnared her._

_“S—Solas…” she whimpered, her resolve crumbling before his very eyes. He could see the jealousy, the rage, the_ pleasure _, written all over her features and it nearly undid him. With a growl he pushed his hand up the back of the other girl’s shoulders, shoving his fist into the hair at the base of her neck. Da’mi’s copy mirrored her expression – eyes wet and glistening in the evening light, completely soaked in lust and desire. Her lips were slick with her saliva, tongue hanging ever so slightly out as she let loose a deep, thrumming groan, canting her own hips and ass back onto Solas’ throbbing cock. She mirrored Da’mi’s thrusts and jerks, the only difference being that Solas’ expert fingers were anchoring her between her legs, giving her the friction Da’mi longed for, the bitter satisfaction._

 _A grunt escaped his own lips as she slid up and down him, pressing against his cock, begging him to thrust into her. He felt himself coil into a tight knot of desire. The hand he had fisted in her hair now pushed her down harshly, and a loud cry echoed across the water as he bent her low in front of him. Da’mi mirrored the cry, panting harder, faster, desperate,_ furious _with desire._

_Solas made the girl tip her head up then, forced them to make eye contact. He knew the girl’s expression was too obscene, too scandalous, and it coloured the real Da’mi’s features as she watched her own face as she was pleasured… as this other woman, herself, her twin, was pleasured in place of her._

_He dragged his lower fingers, now dripping wet with her arousal, around to her hips, kneading at the soft flesh there as he poised his hard, twitching cock at her entrance. The girl hummed, closing her eyes, and opening her mouth. Her breaths were so loud, they echoed up and around the ceiling, making him quiver with desire._

_Trailing his other hand down from her neck to her back, he played with the sweet tension of muscle there. They flexed and rippled at his touch, arms moving to try and touch him as he trailed his fingers down toward her hips._

_With a snarl, he reached to grip her wrist, yanking it behind her back viciously. The real Inquisitor gasped at the violence of the act, wincing slightly as the girl cried out in pain. Her cry turned to liquid laughter, however, and Da’mi felt herself shiver as she recognised the expression on the girl’s face – fear and desire whipped into a frenzy._

_Solas had both of her hands behind her back now, one hand expertly gripping the jut of her hips to anchor her in the difficult position. Now that he had her where he wanted her, he allowed his impossibly dark eyes to snap up to the real Da’mi’s face._

_“Remember, Inquisitor, you_ asked _to be broken,” he said darkly, before pushing into the girl’s entrance, slow and deliberate. She cried out so loud and long that the spectators started yelling themselves, shocked at the obscene wail that echoed across the pool and out across the lake._

 _“No, no, no,” Da’mi whispered, rutting helplessly against the glass, feeling her own mouth opening wide as she watched the girl’s mouth suck in breath after desperate breath. Their tongues hung out, saliva wetting their lips, eyes opening wider and wider as Solas stretched the girl’s cunt open. Da’mi could almost_ feel _it herself, shoving her ass back, spine arcing impossibly as she felt a wave of pleasure ripple through her._

_Solas flashed a toothy grin, savouring the vision of her body twining and coiling with pleasure. She was exquisite. Flawless. Perfection. The subtle curve of her thighs as her leg lifted from the ground, the shudder that made her breasts quiver and swell, the way her eye-lids veiled the fiery burning in her eyes…_

_Gritting his teeth and letting out a low groan, Solas began thrusting. All his attention was on the true beauty before him – trapped, wanting, desperate. She looked down at him through thick lashes, mouth still wide open as she greedily gasped in breath after breath. Her hips started moving again, and he watched with unrestricted delight as her fingers twitched. She wanted to touch… needed to touch…_

_Another idea struck him and he flicked one finger lazily as he thrust in again and again into the other girl’s hot, slick cunt. He loved the obscene way the sound of their coupling rang out across the water, each slap of skin and slick of moisture music to his ears._

_His finger allowed the ice about Da’mi’s wrists to melt, artfully freeing one wrist whilst tightening on the other as she was released. The Inquisitor cried out in relief, and her hand instantly stole down to between her legs, fingers grasping at her own entrance, recklessly, impatiently seeking to relieve some of her own tension._

_“Solas…mmm…” she could hardly even speak, panting like an animal, legs twitching, straining at her bonds and violently shoving her fingers inside herself. Solas watched on as he felt his own desire pool in his groin and strengthen. The other girl moaned beneath him, feeling the constricting walls of her cunt stretch impossibly wide to accommodate him. She keened, the sound explicit and lewd, then pressed the full flesh of her ass back into him, impaling herself and grinding helplessly against him._

_He was close now. So close. Feeling himself being fucked by this goddess of a girl, whilst simultaneously watching her come undone without him even touching her. It was… it…_

_“Oh… creators…” he growled, arcing down to bite at the flesh of the girl’s neck, dragging her up so that she was sitting on him, legs shifting, toes pointing as she strained to allow the position. Her ass glided up and down his painfully throbbing cock, and the sight of her impaling herself on him over and over was enough to send him tumbling over the edge._

_But as he flicked his eyes up, he felt the orgasm crash over him even stronger at the glorious vision before him._

_Da’mi was mirroring the girl; legs bent, ass crushing into the glass, slamming violently against it as her little fingers fucked herself raw. She strained her one arm against the ice, forcing herself to ignore the pain and pleasure she felt at being restrained. As her eyes roved over the mirror image of her own figure, she found herself gazing directly at Solas as he spilled his seed into the other girl, and her entire soul shattered._

_The orgasm was hard, fast, unrelenting, and it broke over her in waves. Her eyes rolled back in her head, a long, loud, desperate scream echoing around the room. Solas’ own guttural cry was simple, but it mingled with hers as they came in unison, completely undone at the sight of the other._

_It took a long time for either of them to fall back down to earth, but once they did, they felt hollow. Emptied. Awash with pleasure._

_Solas finally opened his eyes, allowing the image of the other girl to fade, standing alone facing the goddess trapped before him._

_He waved his hand, and the binding melted away, letting Da’mi fall gracelessly into the water. With a swift movement he caught her, and cradled her shivering, broken body, holding her close to his chest._

_“Shhh..._ ma’lath _,” he crooned, all the wickedness and darkness gone from his voice. Now it was honey, dripping into her ears and singing to her soul as he stroked her cheeks, her brow, her hair._

It was in this way, wrapped in each other’s arms that the two awoke – now separate and alone in their respective rooms, completely unravelled by desire.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO LIKE. BOOM. I'M EMBARRASSINGLY PROUD OF THIS STUPID PLOT TWIST. SHOCK HORROR, SHE WAS REAL ALL ALONG. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN FOR CULLEN... find out soon because I cannot stop writing xD


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the slight hiatus - I've been completely sapped of all creativity lately and couldn't bring myself to write. Apologies for the sluggish chapter, the next one will be full of fun and games, I promise.
> 
> Thank you so much for your lovely comments, you help keep me typing <3

There was a small moment as the dreamers awoke when the spirits had time to debrief.

If you could call it time, the way that the fade and reality sometime shifted out of balance. The living could only think in lines, blocks, patterns. Immutable laws. But as spirits, it was too easy for them to see their world as nothing more than fluid. Something that bent and stretched and warped like fabric or water.

This was why, in the seconds it took for Solas and Da’mi to awake, the spirits could lounge in their small part of the Fade and plan.

“I propose a challenge,” Mischief said, still reclining on his lounge in that same arrogant manner. The commander’s cloak was now a darker colour – all the reds and golds changed to black. He picked out a small feather from the shoulders of the coat and twirled it about his fingers as he affected a nonchalant manner. Wisdom smirked at him.

“Surely after that display, you wouldn’t want to challenge _me_ ,” she said proudly, delighting in the way Solas now wrenched himself from the Fade, flinging his furs and cushions away from him maniacally. Da’mi, on the other hand, was still drifting back to waking.

“I need to stroke my own ego,” Mischief said with a dark look in his eyes. He flicked the feather at the other spirit, liking the way she had warmed to him. Just like all those old times before.

“Of course,” she smiled back with equal darkness, now drifting over to sit on the edge of his lounge. “What did you have in mind?”

“They’re doing well,” he said, eyeing the waking Solas with a knowing quirk of his brow. “I’m sure they will unravel themselves well enough now without our help. And yet…”

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” Wisdom smiled. It was curious, the way spirits conveyed emotion. Instead of simple forms and gestures, spirits handled emotion like a palette of colours on a canvas. They were layered, blended, melding to form a _person_. One could not simply be _happy_ or _sad_ in the Fade. For them, it was an entire symphony of emotion – sometimes a cacophony. As Mischief looked at Wisdom now, still reeling from the fury of emotions the dream had raged with, her face was awash with colourful emotions. The features blurred, affecting joy, hope, playfulness, humour… and Mischief took it all in with the same flurry of emotions.

“No,” his form solidified, and he stood to cross the expanse between them and the veil, grinning ear to ear as he observed Solas staggering to the small closet opposite his bed. The way the old man dressed, it brought the idea to life in his mind.

“We have to tease them some more,” he said, “They’ll find it all too easy to hide their emotions – like they always do. The Inquisitor may be more… _forward,_ but she is in no way open or honest. Her darkest fears and desires are locked away as tightly as his.”

Wisdom nodded her agreement, “But we cannot push them too far,” she said sternly, gesturing behind them to the image of the commander, who was still awake. He hadn’t slept since his run in with Solas, and now spent the early hours of dawn scribbling endless letters and planning strategies.

“The Lion?” Mischief waved his slender hand, as if to say _don’t worry about_ that _one_.

“Hmm,” Wisdom was suspicious, but she conceded all the same.

“How do you propose we proceed?”

“Like I said, they are doing well,” Mischief responded, “I believe they are on the cusp of discovering their true emotions. Last night alone will have the Inquisitor questioning herself for weeks. But that’s not enough – they’ll stew over their feelings in the dark, and force themselves into little packages of control so that they can _do their duty_ ,” he spat the words out with disdain, as if they tasted badly in his mouth.

Wisdom sighed, “I have seen Fen’Harel’s _control_ become his undoing before … we cannot allow it here. Too much depends on their success,” she looked up at him and quirked her brow, “Tease it out of them, you say?”

Mischief nodded, taking the other spirit’s hands in a companionable way, and then his smile turned absolutely wicked.

“I’ll take the girl.”

 

*          *          *

 

Mischief shadowed the Inquisitor as the dream came to a close, and bled out of the dream to pool into reality along with her. The veil was instantly thin, begging to be torn as her emotions whirl-winded about her mind, and Mischief had to step backwards to avoid pressing _too_ harshly against it.

He smiled knowingly as her mind scrambled to find fact – the haze of the dream was still so tangible, so easy to believe. There was a split second where she smiled, pure and truthful, eyes still closed as she felt the ghost of a touch on her back, the warmth of someone holding her…

And then her deep brown eyes flew open and she gasped.

The spirit chuckled as she kicked her way out of her covers, leaping out of her bed and racing to the dresser she barely used. The mirror there was dark and pitted with scratches, but she could see herself all too clearly in its reflection. Her hair was a complete mess, sticking up at odd angles, and tangling into knots about her shoulders and temples where she’d lain on it. Her skin was bright and ruddy with excitement – a hot flush still apparent all across her cheeks, throat, and ears. Feeling the sensation of blood rushing hot and fast, Da’mi reached up gingerly to touch the little points of her ears, marvelling at how red they were, how warm they felt.

But it was her eyes she couldn’t stop staring at. As if she could somehow pierce deep into their wells of memory and pull out the dream herself; yank it out of her mind forever.

Her stomach did awful turns as the memories crowded her thinking. She tried to force her thoughts to shut down – to wall off that dream and keep it locked away forever. But the visions that danced before her were all too fresh, too stifling for her to succeed and she moaned as she felt herself shiver with desire.

Of course, she’d had dreams like this before. Someone like her, who had never experienced it, but knew the mechanics of sex all too well, couldn’t help but drift off with images and scenarios playing about in her mind. But _this_ dream…

Every part of her was heightened – just like when her and her brothers used to hunt wolves in the forests around their camps. She would lie in wait, turning animal, senses sharpening like a blade.

But now she was the hunted, and she was all too fearful of being caught in her shame.

Mischief couldn’t help but draw closer to her, and the thoughts he saw buzzing around her brain fascinated him.

It troubled her deeply that her mind could have conjured up such a representation of Solas. Try as she might to suppress it, it was all she could think about; the way he had been so twisted, so alien to what he actually was. Sure, she had seen the raw anger in his eyes the day she approached him in the rotunda after allying with the Wardens, but she’d never seen him act on it. She’d never seen him so _physically_ consumed with darkness.

The image wouldn’t leave her, and the lovely way it made her toes curl and breath hitch only served to trouble her even more. Why had she acted the way she had? She couldn’t even recognise herself in the dream – so undone and destroyed by the _thought_ _alone_ that this man could cause her harm if he wished.

The idea scared her, and she brought her hands up to her face, horror etched into her features as she touched her skin tentatively.

_Who am I?_

There was a soft knock at her door and she yelped in surprise.

“Inquisitor?” a muffled voice called. Da’mi let out a sigh of relief. _Josephine._ It was only Josephine.

“Ah— I’m just… getting dressed!” she called back, scrabbling toward the little alcove that served as her wardrobe. Not that she _needed_ one – she’d only ever had a few belongings of her own, and only ever one set of armour. This flamboyant thicket of gowns and scarves and coats was so unnecessary it was starting to gather dust. All the same, she reached down to the floor to grab her same old tunic – the one her _mamae_ had mended over and over for her. In a moment of rare vulnerability, she brought it up to her nose and inhaled the homely scent. Yes. Still the same. She was still the same.

The sound of the door opening made her start, and she quickly moved to yank on her tunic and fumble with her legwraps.

“Oh, thank goodness,” the ambassador sounded relieved, peering her head around the corner and giving her a beaming smile. “One of the serving girls heard strange noises and shouts from your room. We were concerned there was an intruder.”

Da’mi felt her skin tingle with another blush all over again. Noises and shouts? By the Dread Wolf…

“Oh—oh no, no Josie,” she laughed nervously, “Just a bad dream.”

She was knelt on the floor, hands busy trying to fix the leather straps across her calves and legs. The pattern was all too familiar to her for her shaking hands to confuse her movements, but all the same, she dressed herself much slower than usual.

 “Inquisitor…?” the kind face of her ambassador now contorted with worry as she moved to try and help her. As her cool hands touched her bare shoulders, Da’mi yelped and skittered back into the wardrobe, furiously tying her legwraps up about her thighs to try and hide her embarrassment.

It didn’t take long for Josephine to realise something was wrong, and as she took in Da’mi’s flustered appearance she gasped.

“Inquisitor! What happened?”

Da’mi sheepishly looked at the floor, bringing her knees up to her chin and gripping them tightly with shaking fingers. She was trying to hide her face as she kicked at the mess of clothes around her. “Honestly, Josie, it was just a bad dream,” she muttered.

Josephine huffed and Mischief couldn’t help but chuckle at the situation as he watched on. The Lady Ambassador was far shrewder than Da’mi gave her credit for. Josephine could already see the haze across the girl’s eyes, the hot flush across her cheeks, the way she had flinched at the slightest touch. Perhaps there was no intruder, but someone had intruded on the girl’s thoughts all the same.

Drawing on all her diplomatic experience, Josephine decided to leave the Inquisitor’s secrets alone, and opted instead to mother her.

“Really, Inquisitor, you need to take better care of yourself,” she chided, ignoring the relief that spread across Da’mi’s features, so obvious it was cringe worthy. Reaching with her hands to gesture she turn around, Josephine shuffled closer to help her fit her tunic appropriately. Da’mi gave her a childish pout, but turned about anyway, resting her head on her knees again as she stared at the wall. She could feel Josephine’s fingers teasing at the lacing on her tunic, threading it into place with expert hands.

“You remind me so much of my sister,” Josephine sighed as she finished. She pushed gently on Da’mi’s shoulders to suggest she spin back around. “She was always so reckless when we were growing up. Hated being looked after,” Josephine smoothed out the wild curls that twisted about her, tucking them behind her ears. She lingered her touch there, affectionately holding the side of the Inquisitor’s face.

“You need to let us look after you, Inquisitor,” Josephine said softly. She patted her shoulder affectionately to try and seem light hearted, but her gaze was long and meaningful.

Da’mi sighed, trying not to blush at the thought of opening up to _Josephine_ of all people about her lewd dream. She chewed on her lower lip as she tried to think of something to tell her.

“It was… just another nightmare,” she said, staring at her toes intently. “Corypheus.”

She knew it sounded lame, if not childish, but she hoped that the statement was vulnerable enough to placate the ambassador.

It was. Josephine let out a little noise that sounded like she had just found a wounded kitten on her doorstep. Gently, she pulled the elf into an embrace, her strong human frame wrapping easily around Da’mi’s little shoulders. She felt guilt creep up into her cheeks, heart hammering against her ribcage, but she indulged herself in the hug, trying not to enjoy it _too_ much.

After a moment, she shrugged awkwardly out of Josephine’s arms and started fidgeting with her hem. Oh boy, did she hate showing weakness. Left a bad taste in her mouth.

“Anyway… breakfast,” she muttered, and with a curt nod she leapt up to her feet. Josephine stood up with much more grace, and not for the first time she sighed in a resigned way. She could never culture this girl, could never curb her enthusiasm or train her in the arts of poise and grace.

And she wouldn’t want to.

Ignorant of Josephine’s musings, Da’mi all but ran to the door and bounded out of it. Suddenly, she was desperate to leave that bedroom, and made a mental note to herself that she should probably sleep outside that night instead. Josephine was left watching after her, shaking her head amusedly.

Mischief drifted after her, a sly smile twisting at his lips as a little plan began forming in his own mind. It was clear from her exchange with the Ambassador that she was loathe to reveal her hand – as if life could be played like a game of Wicked Grace. He rolled his eyes as he followed her – the living were so pitiful in their attempts to _play to win_. He decided it was high time she reveal her hand, and that he would be the one to tip it.

It was always tricky, meddling with the affairs of the living. Mischief had done it enough to be familiar with the concept, but just like all the well-meaning spirits of the Fade, he was discomfited by the notion. It involved allowing your intentions to slip through the veil unnoticed, usually to touch at someone’s mind in _just_ the right way that they were affected. If one pushed too hard, touched the wrong place, disguised their intentions in the incorrect way, it could all come crashing down all too fast. Someone like Compassion – who had manifested successfully without twisting his purpose – was a perfect example of how to do it _right_. He had reached for the mind of someone who _needed_ him, then found himself falling _into_ him and…

But for Mischief, he was hardly ever needed. On the rare occasion that he was, it was only ever fleeting. The Tempest Archer, for example, the Red Jenny Rebel – now _she_ was all too easy to tamper with. Mischief had touched her mind and steadied her hand more times than he could count, and the humour and joy she brought with her was satisfying enough to content him.

The Inquisitor was a different story – there was hardly ever any time for mischief or games with her now. Oh yes, once upon a time, circling her brothers in a thicket in the woods perhaps, or slipping nug shit into the Keeper’s bedroll, but now…

Instead he had to burrow deep into the recesses of her soul to find any mischief he could work with. What he found was priceless. A glittering diamond in the rough.

Effortlessly, he seeped into her mind and cast a simple spell. Simple enough, but deadly in its own way.

“Perfect,” he hummed as Da’mi’s eyes glazed over momentarily. She halted on the stairwell, breathing slowing as her eye lids fluttered. She had to grip the wooden railing to stop herself from falling completely, but it didn’t take long for her to snap back to consciousness.

Shaking her head and rubbing at her eyes with a fist, she blinked the daze away. Prescribing it to the fitful sleep she _must_ have had, she continued rushing down the stairs, unaware of the dormant spell lingering all across her skin.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Man, even though I'm lethargic as all hell, I cannot wait to write the next chapter


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There’s some IRL shit going down at the moment, so probably will take a slight break from this fic for a while. Need to do mindless things like kill zombies and watch Disney movies in my free time for a bit. Thanks for your comments, once again, you definitely give me the motivation to keep writing :)

Opting for a more straight forward approach, Wisdom decided to approach Fen’Harel directly.

Well, as directly as she could. She could _press_ , and that was enough to get his attention.

 _“If you’ll let me speak, I can help you,”_ she whispered in his mind.

He was hardly startled by her appearance, though slightly aggravated that she would choose to bother him _now_. The dream was still fresh in his mind, and he could feel it creating imprints there –something he would be reliving for a long time to come.

 _“Why would you want to speak with me_ now _, of all times”_ he growled in return. The Wolf shrugged on his shirt, tugging at the cuffs inan arrogant way; looking down his nose at the dirt beneath his finger nails, and curling a lip at the way the scratchy fabric irritated his skin. He decided to concede to Wisdom, however, and sat himself down on his palliasse.

“ _Perhaps she would not be as disgusted as you assume,”_ Wisdom said softly, causing the blood to rush to Fen’Harel’s cheeks.

“ _I appreciate your help, but this is not something you can solve,”_ he retorted sharply, feeling his mind recoil from the thought of Da’mi _knowing_ about the dream. She couldn’t. It would ruin him.

“ _Ruin you? Or ruin your_ plan _,”_ she said.

“ _Both. Everything. Nothing,”_ he stood quickly and began pacing his little room. “ _It is nothing –means nothing. Please do not bring it up again.”_

His commanding tone was hard to ignore – this was once one of the most powerful mages in all of Thedas, able to bend and twist spirits to his will with but a thought. But Wisdom was more than a malleable spirit, she was his old friend, and she could not allow him to bury this.

“ _Your fear will be your undoing,”_ her voice was small in his mind. Hiding from him. But strong nonetheless and he softened at the feel of it. He absentmindedly reached into his shirt for his amulet, bringing it up to his face.

“ _She would run. Should run,”_ he heaved a sigh, twisting his amulet slowly in his hands, the little ridges and pitted scars along the bone all too familiar to his calloused fingertips.

“ _How do you know that?”_

_“If she did not, then that would mean—”_

_“—that perhaps you’re not alone with your feelings.”_

_“A kind notion, but ultimately irrelevant,”_ Solas made a motion with his hands, and Wisdom felt the presence of a ward, shoving at her as she tried to press against the veil. He was shutting her out.

But as Solas moved toward the door, Wisdom smiled as she saw him pause, leaning with one palm spread across the wood. He hung his head, eyes screwing shut in an effort to calm his thoughts, but it was a losing battle. He was overcome with the idea, the hope that _maybe_ …

A flash of his desire whispered to her across the veil, the small glimmer of possibility that he held in the darkest recesses of his mind.

… _biting her lip, eyes flashing, questions and answers, body poised for attack, but her eyes, her eyes…_

 _“Her eyes say yes,”_ Wisdom breathed. The ward warped her attempts, but the strength of her determination showed through. Solas snapped his head up at the breath of words in his mind and then…

Then he smiled.

 

*          *          *

 

Breakfast in Skyhold was never a dull affair. The food and preparation were extravagant, of course, but it was something to do with piling all the colourful characters into one room that made it a truly grand affair. Da’mi had insisted that everyone eat together, like she had in her Dalish camps, and some of the Inner Circle enjoyed the sentiment – and the entertainment it provided.

Today, however, it was nothing short of a nightmare.

Da’mi knew something was wrong as soon as she stepped through the door that led from her quarters to the main hall. The sound of laughter and shouts greeted her harshly, and something twisted deep in her gut. Her knees grew weak, and she felt a sweat threaten to begin at the small of her back and the nape of her neck.

She shook it off, but couldn’t escape the feeling that this breakfast was going to be eventful.

She crossed the threshold of her throne, purposefully _not_ looking at it when she passed. She hated the thing. Too human, too self-aggrandised. She’d much rather pass judgement on the floor, cross-legged, eye-to-eye just as her Keeper had done. A conversation, not a hearing.

But the thought fell from her mind as another peal of laughter and responding shouts rang out across the hall.

The strange tingling sensation ramped up into a burning fever that crawled across her skin. She couldn’t help but yelp in surprise at the feeling – like her body was reacting beyond her control.

As she neared the tables, she realised who the laughter belonged to. Dorian was sitting on the edge of the table, rocking back and forth as he outright guffawed like a loon. She couldn’t help but grin at his mirth – he was always so free with his emotions, and she was almost jealous. But in him she saw something of her brothers, and something of her old self if she were honest, and so she couldn’t bear to hate him for it.

And then Cullen grumbled at his protest and she felt paralysed.

It was he who had been shouting in retort – his own cheeks blazed red and his eyes were darting about the room in embarrassment. The butt of a lewd joke then? Hardly anything out of the ordinary.

But something about him… something… her knees were visibly shaking now, and her hands were gripped into white-knuckled fists at her side. _What on earth is happening to me?_

She tried to ignore the now fully stoked fire that raged in her, and sat herself down carefully across from Dorian. Varric was next to her, artfully picking apart a chicken thigh with his teeth. Vivienne and Bull were on her other side – Bull laughing right along with Dorian at the commander’s blushing, Vivienne hiding a small smile behind her napkin.

“Ah, Inquisitor! We were hoping you’d arrive soon,” Dorian gave her a wink as he moved to sit back down in his seat. He turned his gaze to the commander, and the look he gave him was positively cruel. “We were just talking about you.”

Da’mi reached for her tea, which had just been filled, and gulped it down greedily. Was it always so hot in here?

And then Cullen spoke:

“Maker’s breath, Dorian, will you let it _rest_.”

_Oh. Gods._

The sensations Da’mi felt in response weren’t subtle. Sure, she had feelings for the commander, of a sort. She was completely enthralled by Solas, but equally infuriated by his aloof avoidance of her advances, which made her thoughts on the commander a little muddled.

But the way her body reacted to the sound of his voice made her think otherwise.

It happened quickly, like molten fire searing through her veins. Her gut twisted again, turning into a burning hot brand of desire searing into her lower abdomen. Her skin started tingling uncomfortably, and she felt her back arch ever so slightly in her chair as the shiver wracked her from head to toe. A little yelp escaped her lips as the desire turned sharply into her being outright turned on, and everyone at the table looked at her.

_What is happening to me!?_

“Uh… Blades?” Varric’s nickname was endearing, but now it sounded just like its meaning – cutting into her mind like a hot knife. “You alright?”

Da’mi scrambled for her tea again, trying to gulp down the last of it to calm herself down. She purposefully stared at the table in front of her, avoiding the curious glances she was getting from her table of friends.

“N—nothing. It’s nothing,” she all but whispered. Her voice was completely hoarse, rasping and caught in her throat as her blood pumped even faster. She heard the small sounds of Cullen shifting in his chair and blushed all the more.

“My dear, you really should take better care of yourself,” Vivienne chided beside her. Her words were kind enough, but the plum in her mouth made them sound as arrogant as she meant them to be. Da’mi gave her a bitter look and frowned when the enchanter gave her one of her signature smirks in return.

“I’m fine. Just worn to the bone from all of _you_ people and your antics,” she glared around the table pointedly, trying to carve a smile into her face. Her remark earnt her some laughs, and she felt herself relax. She had avoided the subject… barely.

Cullen cleared his throat from the end of the table, and she dared to glance at him, steeling herself. Something about him was causing her to react this way, and she hated every second of it. Just like in the dream, where she’d had no control over her body…

His eyes were searching, intense. He was staring straight at her with concern all over his features and it made her go rigid. She couldn’t pull the wool over his eyes.

Tearing her own eyes away she looked the ceiling, leaning back in her chair with her tea gripped firmly in her fingers. The group around the table continued talking amongst themselves, much to her relief, and she enjoyed the moment of social invisibility she had. It granted her precious time to try and handle the acute fever now settling into her bones.

She didn’t notice, then, the soft sound of bare-feet padding across the stones, and the creak of wood as Solas sat himself down next to Dorian.

His voice cut through the air like an arrow:

“I trust you slept well, Inquisitor?”

Unaware that she’d been leaning her chair back on its hind legs, the jolt that Solas’ voice sent through her caused her to twitch off balance. She cried out – from shock as well as horror at the roaring fire of desire that flared up again at the sound of his voice – and fell with a loud crash onto her back, the chair jutting into her shoulders painfully.

The others scuffled about her to try and help, although Dorian seemed to be positively rapt with laughter. It rang out across the hall as he gripped his sides, tears streaming from his face. Solas and Cullen were both standing and gripping the sides of the table, concern etched into every line on their faces.

“Ah – what in Fen’Harel’s name…?” Da’mi winced as Varric helped her up whilst Vivienne righted her chair. She felt embarrassment crawling across her skin, and the familiar heat of a blush on her ears as she sat down again, all four feet of the chair planted firmly on the floor.

“My dear, you are a complete mess this morning,” Vivienne said calmly, trying in vain to tug Da’mi’s unruly hair into place. The Inquisitor swatted her hands away and started sulking. Oh how she _hated_ being the centre of attention. She laughed at herself as she glared at her now empty tea mug. She had definitely decided to walk the wrong path if she wanted to avoid attention.

“Inquisitor, are you sure you’re quite alright?” Cullen. Oh gods. She felt that same flash of desire which was now settled uncomfortably between her legs, and she bit down on her lip to stop herself from yelping in surprise again. She settled for crossing her legs instead, glaring daggers at the table in front of her.

“I’m fine,” she gasped, reaching to yank a chicken thigh off the bird at the centre of the table and start devouring it unceremoniously. She didn’t need to look at Vivienne to know she was looking at her with disgust – she could practically _feel_ Vivienne’s judgement rolling off of her in waves.

The group was silent now and she cursed Solas for ruining her small moment of peace. Dorian was still chuckling softly to himself, but as she glanced at him, she saw he was slightly concerned too. He slowly stopped laughing, and brought his hand up to his mouth, staring at her intently as he rubbed on his chin.

“What?” she said sourly, eyes narrowing as he flashed her a little smile. He was thinking, and that was never a good sign.

“Oh nothing, sweetness, I was just wondering why you’re so – how do I put this – flustered?” at this last word he quirked his brow, and Da’mi gritted her teeth in anger.

“Dorian…” she warned, pointing her chicken bone at him as a threat. He only snickered against his hand, eyes all too full of knowing.

“How _did_ you sleep, my dear? You never answered Solas’ question,” he said slowly, savouring each word, and savouring her reaction even more. She blushed from head to toe, face impossibly red and making the white tattoos across her forehead and chin stand out.

“Dorian, I swear…” she started reaching for her daggers, which were tucked safely against her thigh. She hadn’t equipped her _real_ daggers. The expensive ones. But she always had her little knives strapped to her upper leg, even when she slept. Though she trusted everyone here with her life, she still couldn’t shake the feeling that she was never going to be safe again.

Praising her own paranoia, she grinned menacingly as Dorian’s face went pale when she flipped her knife into view.

“Enough,” she said in her most commanding tone, and when she knew Dorian was finished playing, she relaxed, artfully slipping her knife back into its holster. She had just enough time to glimpse Cullen’s reaction and felt herself flush anew with embarrassment.

His eyes were pointed directly at her lap, wide and staring. A slow blush was creeping across his features as his mouth opened and shut, like he were trying very _very_ hard to breathe properly. It was then that she realised he was staring at the bare skin of her thigh that was showing, her hand lifting her tunic just enough to reveal the curve of her ass, pressed onto the seat.

She yanked the tunic down and turned away hurriedly. Was she really going to spend this entire breakfast blushing like a school girl? The feeling was unnerving as her ears burned again, but she felt them burn even hotter when she turned to see Solas looking at her with a strange expression on her face.

Thankfully, everyone had started talking again, and she turned away from Solas and his distressing expression to find Sera and Cole meandering into the hall. She waved them over, trying not to show her desperation.

Sera plopped herself down into one of the chairs by Dorian, sitting artfully in the spare seat between him and the commander. All it took was one look at Cullen and Sera jumped right in, ribbing him casually and giggling at the little jump he made.

“Why so _jumpy_ Mr. Commander?” she made a little wiggle in her chair, mocking his startled expression. He glared at her.

“None of your business, _Sera,”_ he retorted.

Oh but how she wished he hadn’t. Da’mi felt her heart leap in her chest, and the unpleasant rush between her legs made her cross them hurriedly. She bit down on her lip, wriggling around to try and make the feeling _stop_.

But by the gods did she _feel good_. She’d never felt so turned on, so full of _wanting_. It was all she could do to try and stop herself from wriggling _too_ much in her chair, enjoying the friction it provided.

And that blasted Sera just kept goading him.

“Oh? I’d say the bloke in charge of this keep’s _safety_ and his little school girl blushes are _totally_ my bus-i-ness,” she articulated the word childishly, wagging a finger in his face. Da’mi saw a bitter look come into his eyes as she teased him and it distracted her for a moment. She knew all too well how controlled Cullen’s actions were, but she’d never seen him like _this_. It was like… like watching someone dangle meat just a bit too high in a lion’s cage, and the ferocious look it would give its captor when it realised it was being teased.

“Enough, Sera,” he slammed his mug down, and the loud noise coupled with the sound of his _voice_ made Da’mi cry out a little too loudly. Her hands flew to her mouth in shock as she sheepishly looked at the rest of the party. The looks they were giving her were _definitely_ concerned now.

“I—I’m sorry, I don’t know—“

“The Inquisitor is unwell. She needs to rest,” Solas’ voice was like ice, brittle and cold, cutting through the air. But despite the heart-breaking look he was giving her now, all she could feel was the merciless pulse of desire in her groin. The way his voice _felt_ as it filled her mind… filled her…

She started breathing heavily, moving her hands to grip at the fabric of her tunic in her lap, squeezing her legs together to try and _stop that insatiable feeling…_

The more they talked, the harder it was for her to concentrate. It was like each word, every noise, sent a thrill through her, and brought her closer and closer to the edge. She was only vaguely aware of the fact that Solas was now moving toward her, stepping out of his seat and walking around the table.

“No—no it’s fine,” she had a sudden fear of him touching her. Flashes of the dream returned to her mind with full force, and as he moved his hands closer to her shoulders, she felt herself grow rigid.

The touch was like electricity.

She visibly jolted, crying out suddenly as something snapped in her. The roiling desire built to a painful crescendo, and a mewling cry escaped her lips. It was almost lewd, and the way she bent into his arms all too revealing of her lust. Solas gasped, fingers instantly pulling away from her skin, stepping away like he’d been burned. His face was impossible to read – eyes wide, mouth gaping, brow furrowed. Was he disgusted? Afraid? She could not tell.

But now she was acutely aware of _all_ the eyes on her. Even the humour in Dorian’s face had fallen. Now he was looking at her sharply. No. No, no, no. _He knew_.

She could see it in his eyes. He knew about the dream. Or at least, he knew something had happened last night.

“I—Inquisitor?” Cullen. Another moan bubbled out of her lips and she clapped her hands over her mouth. She felt tears start pricking in her eyes at the embarrassment.

Solas narrowed his eyes. “I think we’d better take her to her room,” he said quietly. Oh… oh but the way his shoulders slumped, the way his head hung in dejection. Da’mi started shaking her head, not believing what was becoming all too crushingly clear.

He knew too.

But his voice, oh his _voice_. And suddenly she was too far gone, writhing in her seat and gripping the wooden arms of it with shaking fingers. She was panting now, breath coming in short ragged gasps as she tried to see past the haze of lust that clouded her mind.

But they didn’t notice. Didn’t even flinch as Solas reached down and hoisted her into his arms. He was tall, for one of her kind, and her small frame fit snugly in his arms. Against his chest. In any other scenario, Da’mi would have been comforted by the gesture. Now it just made her wild.

“S—Solas,” she gasped, scrambling to get out of his grip. Away from the touch of his hands on her. She felt like her clothes would burn up just from touching her skin, she was so consumed with fire. But her attempts to get away from him only made his grip tighten. She chanced a peek at his face, scared of what she would find. Was he disgusted, now that he knew her true shame?

His jaw muscles were the first thing she noticed, pulsing strangely. She narrowed her eyes, was he gritting his teeth? But then she saw his eyes and gasped.

His eyes were iron. The darkest of pits and impossibly steely as he stared ahead of him. She was vaguely aware of the fact that he carried her across the hall back to the door to her room, but only just. His continued touch was sending jolts of hot flushes through her, and by the time they got to the stairwell she was all but choked with the desire. Her arms snaked up and around his neck, clinging desperately, begging him to throw her on the floor and claim her. _Now._

 _Please, gods, do it now._ She begged in her mind, but her teeth clamped down, forcing herself to shut out another moan of pleasure. Her body was all but wracked with the familiar waves of an orgasm, and her stomach began to coil up in wait of the release.

Suddenly another voice and the sound of following footsteps made her snap her head up over Solas’ shoulders. Cullen. Cullen was following them.

_Gods, no, how much more of this can I take?!_

She tried to tell him to leave, to stay behind as she unravelled. She didn’t want him party to this too. It would surely ruin her.

But as she tried to speak, all she could manage was another groan, this one long and breaking her voice at the end. She sounded like a wanton whore in Solas’ arms, and the shame of it was almost too much for her to bear.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen’s eyes were bright and fierce. He was blushing himself, all too aware of the way she panted and wriggled and moaned. She could only imagine the embarrassment he must be feeling at seeing her like this, and it turned her stomach to stone.

“P—Please,” she managed, trying to make it sound like a warning. But as the sound left her lips it sounded like a sordid invitation, full of lust and desire.

Cullen visibly paled, eyes wide and darting to the back of Solas’ head in fear. But Solas just trudged on, storming up the stairwell and bursting through the door to her chambers. She managed to use the momentum to try and swing herself out of Solas’ arms, and the sudden jerk of her arms ripping free of his neck caused Solas to stumble. She twisted lithely, landing on her feet and using her arm to steady herself on the floor. She looked up to face the two men who tumbled after her into her room with the poise and fear of a wild cat, teeth bared, ready to face her attackers.

“What the fuck is going on?!” she hissed, trying to stop the tears that smarted in her eyes, and the way her voice broke up on the last word. But she knew as the two of them opened their mouths to speak that it was too late.

Now that she was alone with them, none of them stood a chance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will be pretty juicy, good luck


	8. Chapter Eight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I HAVE RETURNED

Cullen spoke first, the fear that gripped him all too clear in the way his voice broke on the word:

“Inquisitor—“

“No! Don’t speak,” she all but screamed, eyes wide and stepping backward. Her hands were outstretched, shaking visibly as she tried to protect herself – to protect the distance she had finally managed to create.

Frustrated at her command, Cullen grit his teeth. The sight of her made him feel far too helpless – she was like a startled deer that couldn’t be calmed, and the reality of his helplessness was crushing.

What was even harder to swallow was the sensation that her fear was directed at _him_.

“Inquisitor,” he breathed, not even aware he had given form to the word. Solas shot him a vile look as Da’mi flinched again. She all but ran, scampering across the wooden floor and falling in a heap behind her bed. The two men could hear her ragged breathing all too clearly and Solas moved toward her instinctively.

“Don’t!” she commanded. A little hand darted out from behind the bed, finger pointed directly at him. “Don’t you dare come another step closer.”

“Inquisitor please,” Solas said, trying with all his might to keep his voice level. “What has happened?”

 

*     *     *

 

To the untrained ear he sounded as aloof and indifferent as usual, but Wisdom could hear the fragile resolve fracturing underneath his coldness, and she smirked at it.

The two spirits crowded into the emotion-soaked room, pressing as close as they dared to the three tormented souls. Wisdom allowed herself a moment to revel in the myriad of emotions broiling in the room – the vibrancy of the rage, the flashes of desire, the spectrum of despair - it was almost enough to…

“My dear,” Mischief said calmly from behind her, breath tickling the top of her head as he lightly touched her shoulders. “That’s enough.”

She was surprised at the quickness with which his words cut through her. The tone of his voice. “Mischief,” she said, only a little breathlessly, “What—?“  
It was then that Mischief decided to rest his chin on her shoulder, long fingers curling to grip her arms tighter “You’ll ruin the show, my dear,” he breathed. Oh yes. His tone. It was definitely his tone… deep and sultry and…

“What do you think you’re doing?” she whispered, now far too focused on doing what he asked of her.

“Hush.”

 

*     *     *

 

Da’mi, their precious Beacon of Wisdom, was still bunched up by her bedside. Her usually tight buns were beginning to unravel, her curls springing free of their bonds. She tucked a stray behind her ear as she tried very hard to focus on her breathing.

“I need—I need you both to stop talking,” she gasped, now reaching down to grip her tunic in her hands, knuckles turning white. “I need—“

She found she couldn’t bring herself to finish the sentence. What did she need? Her mind was a haze, completely fogged by this furious desire. She understood very distantly that her body was taking over, once again overcome with lust, and fighting brutally to take control.

It was in this rare moment of quiet that a voice slashed through the fog in her mind and spoke:

_Why fight it?_

Too steeped in sensation, Da’mi couldn’t even question the voice or its speaker. She couldn’t even stop herself from replying aloud;

“Because it’s wrong,” she said flatly.

At the sound of her small voice, Cullen and Solas jumped. Interestingly, as both on-looking spirits observed, the two has the same thought; that there was an intruder.

“Inquisitor?” Cullen, calling from much too close to her. They had inched across the floor instinctively, moving to peer around the bedpost.

At the sound of his voice, she felt her breathing hitch and her heart start racing, desire pooling dangerously low in her abdomen as the sound thrilled through her. Shaking her head and trying to refuse the sensations that flooded her, she scrambled helplessly away, trying to find purchase on the wooden floor.

In any other circumstance, the two beside her would have laughed at the adorable way she stumbled and fell over to a nearby chair, clambering into it like a scared cat climbing a tree. But instead Solas and Cullen watched on as fearful as ever, Cullen’s brow creasing with desperate concern as she moved away from him.

Solas was still suspicious, but not of an intruder in the physical sense. It was then that he noticed the thinness of the veil, and the feverish way in which it tingled against his skin and fizzled in the air – like the hot, wet humidity of a summer storm.

Something was pressing close, _too_ close, and warping around Da’mi like light bending about a fracture. He narrowed his eyes, and suddenly realized his opportunity.

Solas was slightly closer, and took advantage of her facing them to rush over and grip her shoulders, peering down into her eyes trying desperately to find any telltale signs of possession. He didn’t want to believe it – didn’t think he _could_ knowing the muteness to magic that Da’mi possessed – but he was so gripped by the fear of her being turned that he couldn’t stop to question his actions.

She yelped at the touch, tremors now wracking her from head to toe as waves and waves of sensation flooded her body. He shook her, eyes turning violent as his fear began to take hold.

“Da’len, please!” he cried, fingers leaving dangerous white marks on her shoulders as he gripped her tighter, “Tell us what happened!”

But she couldn’t. She was so confused, so scrambled in her own thoughts. What had happened? What did he _think_ had happened? These thoughts would have come to the logical conclusion that he knew about her dark dream, that he was now seeing clearly the depths of her desire for what it was but… She was trapped, she realized, as his eyes fixated on hers. Trapped in every sense. Overwhelmed, overjoyed, drowning, drowning …

There was a soft, brief respite. A moment, very small and still, where time seemed to slow and the air hung heavy and silent about them. They were almost eye to eye, with Solas bending ever so slightly above her. She could feel everything, the electric touch of his fingers, the heat that radiated from his chest, close enough for her to touch, and the strange sensation she felt from being _trapped_ , being _overpowered_ …

“Solas…” she all but mouthed, eyes glazing over as all the last shreds of her will melted away.

It was all she could do to stop herself from screaming; “Take me!” Instead, she fell, awkwardly and mindlessly onto him, _into_ him, her mouth seeking his and instead smacking into his jaw. Her tongue instantly worked its way across the smooth skin there, marveling at the feel of bone beneath flesh, of muscle growing taught. She let out a small cry as her teeth found the soft, moist flesh of his bottom lip, biting it hungrily as her arms reached out and clung to his shoulders. She suddenly felt all the raw power of the desire that gripped her, and realized she could shred the thin woven fabric on his back beneath her grip if she chose.

“Inquisitor!” Cullen cried, and another hot flash of desire rushed along her skin like lightning. She cried out into Solas’ mouth, which she was now claiming violently with her teeth and tongue, and arced up into him. She couldn’t even register that Solas was stiff beneath her touch, impossibly frozen to her every move. His eyes were open, hands still on her shoulders, but now bereft of all feeling. She writhed out of his grip as she arced into him, perfectly molding the curve of her figure to the bow of his, but his hands remained in thin air.

It was then that Cullen intervened, suddenly fearful that the mage had bewitched her with a spell. It seemed far too obvious now that he watched it; the obscene way _his_ Inquisitor was now trying to angle her mouth, how her fingers were clutching at the fabric of Solas’ tunic and digging deep into the flesh underneath. Snapping his attention back to the task at hand, he lunged at her.

He knew he’d need to keep a firm grip - the power of the spell would be overwhelming if it has managed to take hold of his Inquisitor so fiercely. He instantly wrapped his arms about her, pulling under her shoulders to lock his fingers behind her neck. The movement was quick and forceful, and he expected Da’mi to react violently to being bound.

And yet…

A loud and lewd cry escaped her lips, her eyes closing to the sensation of being held so tightly and so close. Cullen was almost distracted enough by the glorious sound of her voice to loosen his grip, but tightened his knuckles at the last minute.

“What have you done to her?!” he roared, eyes piercing Solas with all the fear and rage that had built up so violently in him. “Release her!”

“W-what?” Solas coughed, breath coming back to his lungs slowly. He felt a smarting pain in his lip and reached up to touch…

“Blood?” he whispered, staring at his fingers in disbelief – such disbelief that Cullen retreated from his accusations as quickly as he’d made them. Solas was still enraptured by the vague notion that Da’mi had _bitten_ him when he snapped his head up.  
“Release her? What do you mean, Templar? You think _I_ did this?” he spat.

Cullen grit his teeth, trying with all his might to ignore the fact that Da’mi was now writhing in _his_ arms, curving herself back into him despite the awkward grip he had on her. He decided she wouldn’t benefit from the sore neck he was sure to give her, and relaxed his grip to hold her across the middle instead.

A foolish idea, he soon realized, as Da’mi instantly took advantage of the freedom and curled herself around to assault him.

Her mouth was just as eager, but this time she reached his lips straight away. The kiss was slightly more delicate, her mouth closed in order to feel the soft sensation of the commander’s lips against hers. Cullen was equally as flustered as Solas, eyes wide with disbelief as she snaked her arms about his waist. The suddenness of her movements caused the commander to fall backwards, and he fell awkwardly into the chair behind them.

Da’mi laughed darkly as she fell onto him, expertly moving to straddle his hips whilst taking advantage of his cry of alarm and forcing her tongue into his mouth. He cried out again, hands flailing to try and pry her away from him.

Solas, now far too convinced that she was possessed by a rampaging desire demon, reached down without hesitation, ignoring the awful twist of jealousy in his gut as he watched her grind her hips downward. As soon as he touched her shoulder, however, she arced away from the commander, and suddenly turned back to grip Solas’ collar and force him down toward her mouth.

Solas only just had enough time to brace himself against the floor with his knees instead of crashing on top of the two of them. Again, he found himself rigid with shock, trying desperately to ignore the feverish lust coursing through every part of his body.

“I—Inquisitor…” Cullen was helplessly trapped underneath her, now gripping the sides of the chair with white-knuckled force. It was then that Solas looked down to see her hips – oh… her hips – working artfully in the commander’s lap, her thighs gripping him as she ground into him. With each roll of her hips, the commander slowly lost another inch of control, and Solas could clearly see the vein bulging under the skin of his throat as his face turned red.

Fingers still knotted in Solas’ tunic, Da’mi tore her mouth away, dragging Solas down closer as she turned slightly toward her captive commander.

“Like what you see?” she breathed, “I bet you do ... I bet you _love_ watching …” her eyes were wickedly dark, aimed expertly at Cullen who now writhed in his seat.

“Inquisitor… _please_ ,” he gasped, trying furiously to look away as she turned again to claim Solas’ mouth in hers.

It was at this point that Solas realized just how powerless he was – him, a God, a master of magic, an expert in control – now broken by a desire demon who had chosen to capture his heart, his Da’mi, who now slowly unraveled all of his resolve with her furious kisses.

 _Give in_.

He heard the voice as clear as he heard Da’mi’s heartbeat in her wrist, which now twisted by his ear as she gripped his collar tighter. But instead of forcing him to wake from the dream of desire that enveloped him, it filled him with hope. Filled him with the permission he needed to close his eyes…

 

*     *     *

 

“Lift the spell,” Wisdom breathed, eyes wide, hunched over and face pressed so tightly against the veil that if it weren’t for Mischief holding her back, she would have tumbled through.

“As you wish, my dear,” Mischief growled in her ear, lithe fingers flicking in front of them as he allowed the spell to melt away. Just as they had hoped, the artifice seeped away and left Da’mi with her _true_ feelings of desire and wanton abandon. She was still melted into Solas’ arms, still gripping onto the commander’s hips with her thighs, and still sighing sweet temptations that made the two men completely give in to her and her demands.

“I had forgotten,” Wisdom breathed, now allowing herself to lean ever so slightly backwards into her old friend’s embrace.

“Forgotten?” he hummed in her ear, arms now sliding down her arms and dipping in to hold her hands softly.

“H—how it feels…” she said softly.

“How _what_ feels, my dear?” He was slowly lifting her arms up, allowing his fingers to twist and tease at her skin as he drew her arms outward. Slipping craftily along her arms he snaked his hands down to her waist.

“This,” she gasped, “You…”

“You’ll have to be more explicit than that, my dear,” he was constricting along her waist, pulling her back, pulling her form toward him.

“M—Mischief,” she all but mouthed, allowing her form to stutter, feeling the rawness of his being pressed against hers, two spirits melding into one…

“Mmmm,” he crooned in her ear, “We were always meant to be one.”

“Always.”

Their forms started to slip as they slowly melted into their spiritual forms, but something stopped Wisdom from completely shedding her skin. She gasped as Mischief’s human form held onto hers.

“Please,” he growled, “Allow me this one, very _human_ pleasure.”

She grinned; “Of course.”

And as the two ancient friends watched their work unfold on the other side of the veil, they drew themselves together, and once again united as one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD GOD, IT'S FINALLY OVER. It has been far too long since I've written, and I'm finally rid of all my IRL crappiness that prevented me from resolving this story. It would have been far more smut-filled, but I decided I HAD to finish this storyline in order to keep writing what I really want to write. So here's the heavily edited final instalment of Mischief and Wisdom! Thank you to anyone who managed to stick with it until now, my "brief hiatus" was far, far too long to be forgivable! I'm so sorry <3


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